


the one with natasha and wanda's agreement

by kenscarquin



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Choking, Dominant Natasha, F/F, Friends With Benefits, alternating pov, idk how tf to tag oops, natasha romanoff does in fact have issues, side stucky but not until later, submissive wanda
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:34:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21530479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenscarquin/pseuds/kenscarquin
Summary: “What kind of agreement,” she’s whispering her words now, Natasha’s mouth just inches from her own.“Sex. Friends with benefits. No strings attached. That kind of thing,” Wanda’s knees weaken as Natasha speaks, the words sounding so out of place but at the same time, so fitting coming out of the red head’s mouth. “Are you interested?”
Relationships: Wanda Maximoff & Natasha Romanov, Wanda Maximoff/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 55
Kudos: 436





	1. Chapter 1

They’ve just returned from a mission. A rather easy one at that. And, in usual celebratory fashion, the compound is alight with festivities, drinks are being poured and laughter travels through the group in waves. The successful raid of yet another Hydra base might not necessarily warrant a party, but that doesn’t stop Tony from dragging everyone out of their rooms not an hour after they’ve returned and forcing the freshly-showered and battle-worn Avengers to ‘just have a quick beer.’ 

Unfortunately, that’s not the way it works out, because putting alcohol and exhaustion and a bunch of egotistical men who think they’re all exponentially funnier than they actually are together never works out; and soon chaos reigns. 

Wanda tries to stay out of it, which is what she normally does, tucking her feet underneath her on the couch against the back corner of the living room. Content to watch everyone else get drunk and act stupid, but never partaking in that specific action herself. She’s not one for large groups, she never has been. It was always Pietro who would coax her out of her shell, convincing her that other people were fun and not at all scary. Especially now that she could pretty much silence anyone one she wanted to with a snap of her fingers, the red energy under her skin a very convincing deterrent for anyone who tried to do something she didn’t agree with. So, despite the fact that she was now unmistakably a part of this group, an Avenger, she still had yet to let her guard down, socializing in small doses and with few people. 

However, something happens. Something persuasive and sexy and all pouting red lips and puppy dog eyes, begging her to join in on the fun because the majorly male presence surrounding her was practically smothering her in testosterone. 

That something being one Natasha Romanoff. 

That something being the current object of Wanda’s affections. 

However, she had yet to admit that to herself. Instead, trying to convince herself that the reason her heart beat faster when Natasha smiled at her was that she was just intimidated by the older women. That the reason she lingered at the window of the gym when Natasha was working out was just so she could watch her form, and try to replicate it herself later when she would spar with Steve (the word spar being used very loosely in this particular case.) Whatever the situation may be, when Natasha made her way over to where Wanda was sitting (hiding) and grabbed her hand, pulling her towards the raucous laughter and infectious energy of the party, it was impossible for her to say no. 

“Wow, you managed to entice the little witch to join us,” Tony says, his drunken smile greeting her and Natasha as they rounded the corner into the kitchen, and the rest of the boys cheer when they see her. 

“Just one drink,” she says, holding up her finger as if to cement her decision, and she smiles as the boys all boo at her, a Cheeto hitting her in the forehead courtesy of Sam. Clint, Rhodey and Steve are also seated around the table with Tony and Sam, a couple decks of cards in front of them, beers and bowls of various snacks littering the table’s surface. 

“Isn’t she such a party pooper?” Natasha asks the group, leading Wanda behind the bar with her and letting her hand go. She grabs two shot glasses from the counter, flips them right side up and looks over at Wanda, a challenging smile on her face. 

“What are we drinking hun?” 

Wanda’s face flushes at the term of endearment, trying not to think about how much she likes hearing it come out of Natasha’s mouth, no time to unpack that at the moment. 

“Uhm- that is your choice, I don’t- don’t really care,” she says, shifting away from Natasha to lean against the counter of the bar, her back facing the boys. 

“Alright, vodka it is then,” Natasha says in a definitive tone. Wanda watches as she expertly pours two shots of the clear alcohol and pushes one towards her. Natasha tosses the shot back and swallows in one fluid motion, Wanda copies her, wincing at the sharp taste in her mouth that the vodka leaves in its wake. 

“Another one, Maximoff?” she asks, grabbing the bottle and filling her own glass. Wanda shakes her head fiercely, but her protests are futile, Natasha already pushing another full shot into her hand. She drinks this one too, the hand sanitizer-like flavour of the shot almost worse the second time. 

“Let’s make it three,” Natasha says, reaching for Wanda’s shot glass but Wanda takes a step back, keeping the glass firmly clasped in her hand. 

“Uh, no that is okay, two is fine for me.” Natasha’s eyes flash at Wanda’s response and she steps toward Wanda, instantly closing the gap Wanda had purposely put between them and then some, her chest presses against Wanda’s. Wanda instantly feels like the temperature in the room has just been cranked up. 

“I think you should do three,” she says, reaching for the hand Wanda currently has closed around the tiny glass, and tries to pry her fingers open. The touch sends chills up through Wanda’s hand and down her back, and she exhales shakily. 

“I’m really okay-“ Wanda starts to say, but Natasha presses one of her legs in between Wanda’s and her breath catches in her throat at the contact, her hand flying open in surprise and Natasha grabs the shot glass, sliding away from Wanda in the same motion. 

All Wanda can do is watch Natasha pour the third shot as unexpected but not unwelcome arousal pools in her stomach, subtle but not unnoticeable. Natasha turns to her, hands her the shot glass back and takes her own shot, never breaking eye contact with Wanda. She swallows, winks and leans towards her, the words hitting Wanda’s ear in a throaty whisper. 

“Bottom’s up.” 

Wanda’s almost positive she blacks out, but her eyes flutter open after she feels Natasha move away from her. She knocks her third shot back, almost as if in a trance, and places the shot glass on the counter next to her. She slowly turns around to face everyone, pressing her hands against the counters edge and inhaling deeply in an attempt to keep her cool, like her closest friend on the team hits on her every day, which is simply not the case. 

Natasha is sitting in between Steve and Tony, reaching into the middle of the table to grab a hand of cards, everyone else laughing at something Sam said, completely oblivious to the encounter that had just occurred not ten feet away from them. Wanda walks around the bar and sits down on the nearest chair, not trusting herself to make it any further in her current state. God, why did she have to be such a mess. Natasha hits on people all the time. In front of her. It wasn’t like it mattered. 

“We dealing you in Maximoff?” Clint asks. She looks up, instantly making eye contact with Natasha, her emerald eyes practically burning as they stare into her own, like she’s well aware the effect her innocent flirting had on the younger girl. She swallows thickly as she drags her eyes away to look over at Clint, forcing a smile as her heart thumps uncomfortably in her chest. 

“Sure.”

The rest of the events that transpire that evening are not entirely unexpected. Steve wins the card game, provoking an arm wrestle between Steve and Tony, who’s right arm is covered with a portion of his iron man suit as he struggles (and fails) at the challenge. She beats both Sam and Clint in Mario Kart easily, despite being a complete beginner, and laughs with the others as the other total newbie, Steve, suffers an opposite fate. After almost two full minutes of watching Yoshi travel the course the wrong way, Natasha is the one who gets fed up and snatches the controller from Steve, turning his vehicle the right way despite protests from the group. 

It’s past midnight when things finally start to die down. Wanda is sitting in an armchair next to Clint, listening to him talk about his new son, how him and Laura are handling being outnumbered and how its changed things. Wanda likes listening to Clint, values his friendship. She knows of the soft spot he had for her brother, and despite him reminding her of Pietro in the softness of his words, the bite of his humor, she didn’t mind. Sometimes it was just what she needed to cushion the sharp edges of the pain she felt when she thought of him. Despite the fact that months had passed, the pain hadn’t dulled, it had only changed the way it presented itself; and while Wanda thought she was getting a better handle on things, on grief and loss and how to process pain while her life moved forward, she still had bad days. And on those days, she was grateful for the family she seemed to have found in this team, especially Clint. 

Clint, in the middle of telling a story about Lila’s most recent science project stops talking, his mouth stretching into a yawn. He looks wearily around and notices that him and Wanda are the only two people still in the living room, everyone else having retired to their respective bedrooms. 

“Shit Wanda, I didn’t mean to keep you up,” he says, getting to his feet and squeezing Wanda’s forearm with a calloused hand. 

“It is no worries Clint,” she says, getting to her feet too. He wraps her in a hug and she leans into the embrace gratefully. 

“Have a good sleep, kid,” he says, shooting her a quick smile before he walks off towards the direction of the elevator. 

Wanda sighs, surveying her surroundings. There are empty glasses and dirty plates covering the living room table, and she flips her hair over her shoulder in frustration, beginning to gather the dishes in her arms. When she rounds the corner into the kitchen, carrying way more cups than she should really be carrying, she almost drops all of them. Natasha is there, filling up the dishwasher, her hair tied up at the top of her head in a bun and her sleeves rolled up to her elbows. 

“Maximoff,” she says, leaning against the counter and grinning at Wanda, “I was hoping you were still awake.” 

“W-why?” Wanda stutters, moving to dump her armful of dishware onto the nearest flat surface before she breaks something, not really wanting a repeat of what happened earlier, i.e. her being a gay mess. 

“Cause I hate washing,” Natasha says, “start the water will you? I have to go wipe down the bar.” 

Wanda breathes a shaky sigh of relief as she flips on the tap, steaming hot water slowly filling up the basin, squirting a good amount of soap into the sink as well. She resumes Natasha’s task of filling up the dishwasher, throwing the occasional pot or pan into the sink for her to scrub after she’s done. She sets up the drying rack and begins to scrub down an exceptionally dirty casserole dish, not even realizing that Natasha’s beside her until she’s suddenly just there.

“Did you have a good time tonight?” Natasha asks her, grabbing a half-dry pot that Wanda had already washed from the rack and beginning to wipe it down with a towel. 

“Yes, it was fun,” she answers, leaning over Natasha carefully to place the now clean casserole dish onto the drying rack, fighting to ignore the way her heart beat speeds up as a result Natasha’s proximity. 

“How come you are the one doing dishes?” Wanda asks after a couple minutes of silence, tossing a fresh batch of dirty dishes into the sink.   
“I don’t know, I guess I don’t mind doing them,” Natasha says, her tone wistful, like she hadn’t really thought of it before. “I mean, Steve is always cooking, and I guess I don’t mind cleaning up after him as long as he keeps feeding me.”

“That is kind of cute,” Wanda says, her nose crinkling up at Natasha’s answer, and she jumps to the side when she feels Natasha whip her in the side with the towel. 

“Shut up,” she says, but she’s smiling. They’re silent for the next few minutes, Wanda finishing up the last couple dishes and Natasha wiping down the counter. 

“Wanda, can I ask you something?” Natasha asks. Wanda turns her head away from where she’s filling up a glass with water from the fridge to look over at Natasha. She’s leaning against the counter, arms crossed behind her back, a look of apprehension on her features. It’s an out of place expression on the older woman’s face, and Wanda feels her stomach drop. 

“Yes, of course,” she says, bringing the glass of water up to her mouth to take a sip, hoping the slight tremble in her hand goes unnoticed. 

“We’re friends, right?” Natasha asks Wanda. 

“Yes, we’re friends,” Wanda says, nodding. The butterflies in her stomach are doing backflips, and she places the water down on the counter, not wanting the anxious tremors wracking her body to result in her dropping the glass. 

“Good,” Natasha says smiling, then her smile falters and her eyes narrow, like she’s looking for the right words. “Wanda, this job. It’s stressful.” 

Wanda nods, her attention split between the words coming out of the Black Widow’s mouth and the increase of nervous energy flooding her body. 

“And I feel like, everyone needs a way to relieve that stress. Don’t you agree?” Natasha asks. 

“Y-yes, I agree with that,” Wanda says, she can practically feel her brain working to figure out what Natasha was trying to say. 

And suddenly she’s walking, closing the gap between them in a handful of seconds. She stops in front of Wanda, her gaze falters slightly, and she looks down at the hand towel she’s still holding at her side. Wanda’s surprised to see the emotions flicker across Natasha’s features, knowing that she can control them easily, and wonders why she’s exposing herself to Wanda like this. Of course, it wouldn’t be difficult for Wanda to stretch her red energy to encompass Natasha’s consciousness and read her mind like a book, and her fingers flex in protest now, red energy crackling softly between them, as her mind battles with the desire to do just that. But she hasn’t looked inside Natasha’s head since the day of their first encounter at the shipyard, and she wasn’t about to break the trust they had now. 

“Are you attracted to me?” Natasha breaks the silence. The question, combined with the intensity of Natasha’s emerald gaze catches Wanda off guard, and she feels her back press painfully into the cold metal of the refrigerator behind her. She can feel her mouth fall open in surprise as it struggles to catch up with her brain. 

“Yes,” she says, immediately clamping her mouth shut after the word escapes. Fuck. She doesn’t have time to think about if her answer was the one Natasha wanted to hear before she’s speaking again. 

“I’ve just been thinking, I’ve thought about asking one of the guys but they’re all so complicated and frankly, annoying. And some of them have other commitments. But then, I thought of you, and you seemed like the right fit,” Natasha’s words are spoken in such a soft tone Wanda has to watch her lips as she speaks, not wanting to mishear a single phrase. 

“The right fit for what?” Wanda squeaks out. 

“A sort of agreement, I guess,” Natasha says, and she’s moving even closer to Wanda. Placing the hand towel she’s holding onto the counter next to Wanda’s water, and pressing her hands flat against the fridge, causing her body to rest flush against Wanda’s. 

“What kind of agreement,” she’s whispering her words now, Natasha’s mouth just inches from her own. 

“Sex. Friends with benefits. No strings attached. That kind of thing,” Wanda’s knees weaken as Natasha speaks, the words sounding so out of place but at the same time, so fitting coming out of the red head’s mouth. “Are you interested?”

It’s a very unfortunate time for Wanda’s brain to have stopped working, but yet, that’s what seems to be happening. She clears her throat in an attempt to get some moisture back into it. 

“Well, I have never, like-“ 

“Are you a virgin?” Natasha interrupts, smirking, like she finds the prospect humorous. 

“Yes.” 

“Hmm,” Natasha looks down at Wanda’s lips, then back up to meet her eyes, a thoughtful expression on her face. She reaches up with her right hand, cupping Wanda’s jaw with her hand and strokes her cheek with the pad of her thumb. Wanda’s eyes flutter closed at the touch, a shudder travelling down her spine, and she breathes in a sharp intake of air before Natasha’s lips meet hers. 

She doesn’t have much time to process what’s actually happening before her entire body lights up like she’s on fire. Natasha kisses like someone who knows they’re good at it, hard and soft and passionate and tender all at the same time. Her lips move with agency, yet there’s no sense of haste in her actions either. She draws Wanda’s bottom lip into her mouth, enclosing it with her teeth softly before letting go, moving her head back. But Wanda chases Natasha’s lips with her own, capturing them again and swallowing the surprised hum Natasha lets out. Her hands reach up from where they’re hanging uselessly at her sides to grab Natasha’s hips, primarily just so she’s holding onto something, and she pulls Natasha closer to her. And maybe it should feel weird, that she’s dizzy with desire over kissing someone who was twenty seconds ago just a friend, a friend that she may have had a small crush on, but still. 

And maybe it’s weirder that it doesn’t feel weird at all, actually. 

It doesn’t feel weird that she’s clutching Natasha’s sides, desperately pulling her body closer, wishing there wasn’t the thin barrier of clothing between them. It doesn’t feel weird that when Natasha licks her tongue inside Wanda’s mouth she lets out a shaky moan, that Natasha catches in her own mouth, fisting the hair at the base of Wanda’s neck to pull her head down, deepening the kiss.

Natasha finally pulls away, eyes glazed over, the hem of her shirt pushed slightly up to reveal the sharp dip of her hip bones. Wanda’s eyes blink open to take in the sight of her, and she feels a pang in the middle of her chest. 

“You’re really pretty,” she breathes out before she can stop herself. Natasha smiles, genuinely, it reaches her eyes and causes them to crinkle up slightly. 

“Thanks,” she says, and then she’s spinning on her heel and turning away from Wanda. Walking towards her bedroom like nothing out of the ordinary just happened. “See you tomorrow,” she calls over her shoulder. 

“See you tomorrow,” Wanda says, mostly to herself, watching Natasha’s slowly disappearing form as she walks away. When she’s finally out of sight, Wanda lets her body fall against the fridge, bringing her hand up to chew on the skin next to her right thumb and attempting to make some sense of what just happened.


	2. Chapter 2

Natasha wakes up just before the sunrise. Blinking away the drowsiness that lingers in her eyes and swinging her legs off of the side of her bed. She gets to her feet, pulling on her workout attire, and leaves her room; her foot falls almost silent as she walks towards the elevator. 

The morning air is crisp and refreshing when she exits the compound, and she breathes in a lungful gratefully. Her morning runs were one of the only things she looked forward to, one of the few things she routinely partook in no matter how she was feeling. She adored the solitude that she experienced at this time of the day, running through the woods on the outskirts of their property before the rest of the city had woken up, it felt like she had the world all to herself. It brought about the best kind of undisturbed silence, where she found her mind able to take apart and process her thoughts in a deliberate, methodical manner. 

Her mind was clouded this morning, dominated by one specific thought, that was noisier than everything else inside of her head, making it nearly impossible to think of anything else. 

Wanda. 

It was strange for Natasha to feel this way about what had happened, that she knew. Her runners crunched the gravel path beneath her feet, moving her body closer and closer towards the tree line that marked the start of the forest, as her mind replayed the scenes of last night, and the days (weeks) leading up to her decision to kiss Wanda. 

Natasha could say confidently that she didn’t like Wanda much at the start. Sure, she had encountered worse people, but the way she had forced her way into Natasha’s head, danced her way in effortlessly, completely bypassing the barricades Natasha had spent years building, really rubbed Natasha the wrong way. Then Steve had just invited her into the group without much hesitation, and there she was, donning Natasha’s jacket and fighting Ultron like she’d been there all along. 

She had to admit, her opinion on the girl almost immediately softened when her brother died. Natasha was no stranger to loss; and Wanda was so young, and had already suffered so much. The unfairness of it all was difficult to comprehend, and Natasha began to feel empathy towards Wanda, blossoming in the wake of Pietro’s death, and growing stronger with every passing day. Every time Wanda joined in with her to tease Sam. Every time she saw a flash of her smile in the training room after she used her powers to dodge one of Steve’s half-hearted attack moves. She felt the empathy grow, combining with compassion and concern and morphing into a sort of friendship. 

Natasha would be lying if she said it didn’t annoy her being the only female Avenger, and every time she found herself surrounded by men, despite them being her friends, her family even, she was grateful to look up and make eye contact with Wanda. Just knowing she was there was enough. 

It wasn’t until a few months had passed before Natasha started to see Wanda just a little bit differently. 

They hadn’t had a mission in a couple weeks, which was good news, Tony was monitoring Hydra activity with Maria and Nick, and nothing had come up for a while. The mood around the compound was light, everyone was relaxed, and it was late afternoon on a Sunday. 

Tony had been trying to convince Wanda to try this new training tech he had developed, floating the idea to her every couple days when he would visit. However she would always blush violently and shake her head whenever he brought it up. It was cute, really. But finally, Tony managed to convince her, and Natasha, Steve and Sam were up above the training room watching Tony tap away on a tablet with Wanda looking over his shoulder, looking nervous. Eventually he shot Wanda a thumbs up and walked away, appearing upstairs to join Natasha and the other guys above the room. 

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Tony said, punching his finger on the screen one final time. The lights in the training room dim slightly, and all of a sudden, a computer generated man is standing before Wanda. Almost instantaneously she raised a hand, red energy streaming out of it, and the man exploded into pixels. Natasha saw Wanda’s face break into a grin, and she found herself start to smile too. 

It was a little bit mesmerizing, actually. Natasha felt her mouth opening in surprise as she watched Wanda destroy figure after figure. Even when Tony cranked a dial on the tablet, causing a dozen of them to appear at once, Wanda didn’t seem phased at all. She threw her hands down, red energy exploding outward from her body in a ring, and they all pixelated at once. And then suddenly she was raising herself up into the air, the men dissolving immediately after they appeared, spinning in slow circles as the red energy surrounded her, responding to her every move. 

And when Tony turned off the technology, yelling down at Wanda that he would have to make it more difficult, Natasha caught herself feeling strange. Looking down at Wanda, a tiny proud smile on her face, her auburn hair pushed off her forehead and cascading down her back, her cheeks flushed and aftershocks of her powers sparkling between her fingers; she felt a stirring of something in her chest, a satisfying warmth spreading throughout her body. 

She felt the same sensation now, as she deftly stepped over a tree root, almost at the halfway point of her run. From that day on, she started seeing Wanda in a slightly different way, less of a scared little girl and more of an asset. It wasn’t her fault, she’d been trained to analyze people by their strengths and weaknesses since before she could remember. And it had been a highly calculated move of Nick to assign her to Tony all those years ago, her skills at judging character far outweighing the questionable choices she had made in the past. Despite her difficulty in feeling like she belonged here, on this team, with these people, she was forever grateful for the opportunities she had fought to earn. And so, seeing Wanda lit up with power, making Stark’s training program look like a children’s toy against the red energy humming beneath her skin, subconsciously made Natasha start paying a little more attention. 

Inviting Wanda to watch a movie with her and Sam became a nightly occurrence. Knocking at her door with a plate of the pasta that Steve had made and pushing it into her hands with a smile became customary, knowing that she probably hadn’t eaten since the last time Natasha brought her food. Asking Wanda if she wanted to come with her when she went to visit Clint and Laura became a reflex. 

And it only took Natasha about a week of this increased vigilance for her to conclude that Wanda liked her. 

It wasn’t anything obvious, and she doubted someone less practiced at reading people would have been able to notice anything different about Wanda. But she did. She could see the way Wanda’s cheeks would go slightly red whenever she smiled at her. Most days when she was working out, she could feel a gaze on her. Sometimes it was Vision, hovering above the training room doing whatever it was that he did, but mainly it was Wanda, who would adorably play it off by quickly stumbling away, trying to pretend that she was just passing through. 

The realization of the younger girl’s feelings for her set off a chain reaction inside Natasha’s head, and a plan unfolded before her. She hadn’t been lying to Wanda when she confessed that she’d been thinking of asking one of the guys for the same thing that she had proposed to Wanda the night before. But she couldn’t deny the fact that Wanda’s powers tipped the scales in her direction. The Red Room had shaped her thoughts and her decisions from an early age, and these people being her friends didn’t just wipe away all of that. Wanda was, in her mind, an asset. It didn’t matter that Natasha’s rational brain knew that Wanda was her friend, someone she genuinely cared about. Her subconscious whispered to her that Wanda was someone Natasha wanted on her side, that Wanda’s feelings would make her easy to manipulate, and sometimes Natasha listened to that voice. 

And it was that voice that she had been trying to get rid of for years, but just because it was almost completely silent, didn’t mean that she couldn’t hear it. 

The sounds of another awake person greet her as she rounds the corner into the kitchen, and she feels a smile break out across her face when she’s met with the sight of Steve cooking pancakes. It shouldn’t really surprise her, Steve cooked breakfast for her almost every day, but it still tugged at her heartstrings every time. 

“Morning Rogers,” she calls out, reaching up into the cupboard to grab a mug, and returning the smile that Steve tosses her way. 

“Romanoff,” he turns back to the pan, “good sleep?” 

“Oh, a solid four hours,” she says, filling up her mug with the fresh batch of coffee Steve had probably made immediately upon coming into the kitchen, knowing it would be the first thing she would look for when she got back from her run. She leans back into the counter, looking over at Steve. 

“Tony coming over this afternoon?” she asks, raising the mug to her lips. It was standard post-mission procedure, a brief meeting discussing what happened, what kind of information they had managed to gather, and what was coming next. 

“Yeah, not sure what time,” he says, “he’s going over the files you collected right now.” 

“Good,” she answers, walking around the counter and settling down into the stool closest to Steve. 

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he was flipping pancakes onto a plate as he spoke, “how would you feel about training Wanda in hand to hand? She’s getting better now and I think she needs someone who can actually spar with her without accidentally killing her, you know?” 

“Are you underestimating me?” Natasha teases, but as Steve says Wanda’s name her eyes dart to the fridge a couple feet away. The same fridge she had Wanda pressed up against just a few hours earlier. 

“No, I just mean, I think you guys would be a good match,” Steve says, putting the full plate of pancakes in front of her, and going into the fridge to grab the syrup. Natasha grabs a fork from the counter and pops a piece of pancake in her mouth, thinking about Steve’s proposition. He was right, as usual. Her and Wanda _would_ be a good match in hand to hand. They were pretty similar in body type and height, and she wouldn’t be the first person Natasha had trained. She found herself surprised that he hadn’t asked her earlier, in fact. 

“I think it’s a good idea,” she finally responds, when he settles down next to her with his own plate of pancakes, and he nods approvingly. 

“Can you talk to her today then?” he asks, jamming a forkful of (way too much) pancake into his mouth. 

“Yeah sure,” she says, “talk to Wanda. I can do that.” 

Her gaze flits momentarily over to the fridge again, and she’s thrown back into the kiss again for the second time that morning. How Wanda had gasped in surprise right before Natasha’s lips touched hers, how her hands felt pulling Natasha’s hips closer. How she really wanted to kiss her again. Like, soon. And how she wasn’t really sure to do about that particular thought. Her day dream is interrupted by Sam walking drowsily into the kitchen, exclaiming happily when he sees the pancakes and immediately launching into a loud conversation with Steve. She tries to force her attention on the present, but she tunes out of Sam and Steve’s discussion about the next mission, her mind silently battling with itself. 

There was no reason for her to be this distracted by one kiss. She’d done more with people she couldn’t even remember, so this shouldn’t be different. The Black Widow didn’t do this, feelings, and attachment, and caring. And someone like Wanda Maximoff was _not_ going to change that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks everyone for the nice comments on the first chapter, they made my whole year! 
> 
> there's not a lot of plot in this one, but i wanted to really flesh out natasha's perspective before it gets going :)


	3. Chapter 3

The sun streamed in through the window, ribbons of yellow dancing across the air until they hit Wanda’s white bedsheets, an annoying reminder of just how long she’d spent in her current state, right on the edge of falling asleep without being graced by the ability to do so. Her mind felt foggy, like she had just woken up from a dream, the kind of feeling you got after hours of thinking and dancing on the precipice of unconsciousness. 

Sleep was practically a foreign concept to Wanda. She could count on one hand the full nights of sleep she had gotten since her parents death, the weight of Pietro at her back or at her side anchoring her. Providing her with a comforting calmness that would allow her to sink beneath the waves of sleep for a couple hours, before she’d come up sputtering and gasping for air as the images of war and carnage faded from her vision. But since Pietro’s death, she doubted she’d gotten more than a couple hours in the past few weeks. 

Her head throbbed constantly, an unofficial time stamp drawing her attention to the past, the exhaustion just the trigger for her head to conjure up the images she struggled to bury in the deepest crevices of her mind. Everyday life seemed like just a distraction from the pain, just a means to hold her attention until she spiralled again. And she could feel it coming. 

She could feel it in the tense energy that lingered in her muscles. In her inability to relax her shoulders; in the tense brace of her jaw. She could feel it in the way the crimson energy buzzed beneath her fingers, it was more in tune with her emotions than she was, and she could almost sense its violence. Could sense the way it snapped out aggressively, harshly, like an extension of her own frustration. A display of vulnerability to everyone around her just how close she was to breaking. 

She sat up in her bed, her body protesting the movements, chancing a glance at the tangle of bedsheets at her feet and wrapping her hands around her knees in an attempt to make herself smaller. An attempt to hold herself tighter so she wouldn’t fall apart, like her body was ready to fragment into pieces at any given moment. Tears stung the back of her eyes but she swallowed thickly, not letting them bubble out and trickle down her cheeks. The pain sat like a rock in her chest, full and empty all at the same time. And heavy, like the weight of all the loss was trying to crawl its way into her heart. 

It was days like this that made her wish she wasn’t an Avenger. Made her wish her and Pietro had never volunteered for any kind of experiment, and she hadn’t been cursed with these strange, unforgiving abilities. It made her wish she could leave this world, leave and be with her mother and father and Pietro again, leave like there wasn’t anyone counting on her. Like she had never felt Steve’s blue eyes gaze at her with a fatherly sort of proudness, like Clint had never handed his new son over to her, whose eyes stared up at her with the kind of brightness that made your heart twist, the name of her lost brother tied to him forever. Like Natasha had never found her way so effortlessly into Wanda’s life and she had never developed a burning kind of love for the woman that she knew would never be reciprocated. The power within her felt uncomfortable, itching at her like a wool sweater, making her skin tingle and burn. She choked back a sob that threatened to escape, her fingers longing to claw at her arms and legs and rip it away. All of it. Like it never existed. And she could leave and be rid of this pain and this responsibility and this power that she had reluctantly accepted and had never even wanted in the first place. 

There’s a knock at the door then, and her powers snap towards the door like a reflex, identifying the person behind the door as Natasha almost as soon as her brain has registered the knock. Knowing the older woman is on the other side of the door makes her chest feel lighter, and she’s grateful for the sensation, drawing a breath in as the weight on her chest reduced slightly. 

“Yeah?” she calls out hesitantly, using both hands to push her hair off her face and rub at her eyes in the same motion. The doorknob twists and the door opens slowly, revealing the red haired woman leaning against the doorframe. 

“Tony is going to be here soon and Steve wanted me to come let you know. We’re meeting in the living room right away,” Natasha says, her voice hesitant, probably in response to Wanda’s appearance. She always seemed to forget that Natasha could read people almost as easily as she could. It was frustrating really. Natasha could do the one thing Wanda thought made her special, and for Natasha, it didn’t come hand in hand with an angry red energy that seemed to seek out chaos just as much as Wanda tried to avoid it. 

“Thanks Nat,” she responds, struggling to make her voice stronger to overcompensate, hoping Natasha wouldn’t notice, which was doubtful. She gets to her feet off the side of the bed and busies herself with straightening out the mess of bedding and picking up pillows from the ground she must have tossed there during the night. She chances a look up and found Natasha was still standing in her room, back against the door and watching Wanda with parted lips, like she wants to say something. 

“Was there something else?” Wanda asks, impatience stirring in her belly as her instincts urge her to reach out and read Natasha but she stopped them, images of a red-eyed Hulk and a dazed Natasha, Steve and Thor flash through her mind, and she blinks them away. She had promised herself that she wouldn’t read people without their permission anymore, knowing exactly where her inability to control that particular desire led. She glances back up again, making eye contact with Natasha and waiting for the woman to speak. 

“Steve had an idea,” Natasha began, looking like she wanted to take a step forward closer to Wanda but sensing that isn’t what she wanted, “he wants me to train you in hand to hand from now on.” 

A weird feeling tugs at Wanda, it’s close to happiness, but not quite. It does little to lift her mood, but she found herself not unexcited by the prospect of being trained by Natasha. The feeling is almost enough for her shoulders to relax, and for the darkness hovering around her, sticking to her thoughts and warping them until all that shone through was negative and sad and lonely and dark to dissipate. Just enough for her to let her guard down and open up to the other woman. But it isn’t enough. An uncontrollable urge to be alone made itself known, and a quiet impatience was unconsciously threaded through the next words that Wanda spoke. 

“That is a good idea,” Wanda nods her head affirmatively, trying to signal an end to the conversation so that Natasha would leave, but the definitive tone of her statement does nothing to motivate the redhead to exit the room. 

“Is everything alright?” Natasha asks, the concern creeping into her voice sounded foreign and strange, the connotation seeming so out of place in the gravelly tone that she spoke in. Wanda found herself torn in a couple different directions. 

She didn’t necessarily trust Natasha, she didn’t necessarily trust anyone for that matter. Yes, she’d been invited into this family despite the questionable decisions she had made in the past, but she knew deep down that if she had to, she could just as easily pack up her things and disappear in less than an hour. Not that she would ever have to do that. 

But she could. 

She knew she could. 

And she didn’t like talking about her feelings, maybe to Pietro she could. In the growing light of the early morning, through the thin wall that separated the two of them during the experiments. Or back when they were children, as the sounds of war boomed through the city around them, just far enough away for their parents to be asleep and not urging them to hide, they would share whispers underneath the blankets. They would share stories and dreams for the future, a future that Pietro would never have, Wanda realizes. 

Maybe she could talk to Clint. Maybe it was because he was a father, and there was just something about the way his eyes shone when he talked about his children, and about Laura, that made your heart soften and your lips loosen. Made you want his voice and his opinion to soothe you. Or maybe it was because Pietro had trusted him. Wanda was unsure about a lot of things, but her brother’s judgement wasn’t one of them. 

But she wanted to trust Natasha. It was the way her green eyes looked at Wanda, like she was seeing her for who she was. Not some scared teenager with an unimaginable amount of power that she wasn’t worthy of wielding. But someone strong. Someone who persevered through a tough situation and came out better. Not without character flaws, of course, but better nonetheless. It was the look of someone who wasn’t afraid of her, and it wasn’t a look that was in anyone’s eyes when they met hers anymore. Nobody but Natasha’s.

She knows Natasha is watching her mind work through these things, knows she can read her like a book, despite her best efforts. She opens her mouth and closes it again three times before she finally sputters out a coherent phrase. 

“Yes. I am fine. I’ll see you out there.” She watches with a feeling close to regret stirring inside her belly as Natasha leaves the room, and it stuck with her as she pulled her clothes out of the dresser and got changed and headed out of the room. 

Tony is there by the time she sits down next to Clint on the couch, tucking her feet underneath her and wrapping her hoodie-sleeved arms around her body. She chances a look up at Natasha and found the red head is staring at her, an odd kind of concern playing across her features, but the other woman looks away before she can really analyze it. 

Despite the event currently happening in the living room being labelled as a meeting, it was really more of a conversation. Tony had spent the last couple hours digging in to the Hydra information Natasha had snagged from the base, and he spent a couple minutes reporting it back to everyone. Wanda had a hard time focusing, listening to Steve, Tony and Nat hammer out specifics about said files while Clint and Sam offered up the occasional comment wasn’t all that entertaining. Especially since she didn’t have much of a stake in these raids anyways. 

Tony and Steve rarely let her take part, and when they did, she waited in the Quinjet until most of the action had died down, only being released when everything was more or less wrapped up. She’d attempted to talk to Steve about it but he went on and on about her safety and protection for so long she didn’t dare bring it up again. So she mostly fiddles with the loose threads on her socks for half an hour or so until the meeting is deemed finished and she escapes back to her room, priding herself on the fact that she had managed to make it through the entire thing without saying a word. 

She’s not sure how much time has passed since the meeting. All she knows is that it had grown dark outside, the only light in the room coming from the red energy she currently has trapped between her palms about six inches apart. She’s manipulating the energy with her fingers, stirring it through the air like a spider web, its colour dimming and brightening as her focus wavers. Wanda had been laying in the same spot since she had tossed herself on the bed upon returning back to her room, alternating between trying to fall asleep and staring at the ceiling, not really doing much except thinking about home, wherever that was. Her cheeks are sticky with dried tears after the umpteenth time she’d let them roll down her cheeks, triggered by the memory of Pietro, his presence almost tangible enough to feel him in the room with her, like a word on the tip of your tongue, something so frustratingly close but just out of reach. 

The knock on the door is so jarring that it takes a couple seconds for Wanda to realize it has even happened. 

“Yeah?” she calls out, sitting up slowly and staring at the closed door, almost as if she forgot that it was there. 

“It’s me,” Natasha’s voice reverberates through the wood of the door and travels right into Wanda’s chest, “can I come in?” 

“Uh, yeah,” Wanda says, and the door opens. Natasha is holding two plates, a bottle of wine nestled under her arm and two wine glasses are dangling between the fingers balancing the plates. She’s dressed in a huge hoodie, probably one of Steve’s, making her look like a very underdressed waitress. 

“Have you eaten?” Natasha asks, but the tone of her voice implies she already knows the answer. 

“No, I have not,” Wanda answers, she props herself up on her elbows to watch Natasha walk into the room and kick the door closed with her foot. “I don’t have a table in here.” 

“We don’t need a table,” Natasha says, and she’s already bending down to put the plates down on the carpeted floor, and flipping the wine glasses right way up and setting them down next to the plates. She glances up at Wanda. 

“Are you gonna join me?” She has Wanda’s favourite smirk on her lips, and a mischievous tint to her emerald gaze, looking positively adorable staring through her eyelashes up at Wanda with her legs folded and a slightly hopeful expression. Wanda sighs quietly, despite knowing that Natasha hears it, and slides off the end of the bed to sit next to Natasha. She doesn’t realize she’s positively starving until she smells the slice of lasagna Natasha’s brought to her, and she leans back against the bed, plate in her lap and begins to eat.

“Did you make this?” She asks Natasha between mouthfuls, and sees Natasha shake her head and utter out one word, her hand covering her mouth as she chews. 

“Steve.” 

Wanda nods in understanding and its silent as they eat, a comfortable silence at that. One of those kinds of quiet that isn’t filled with expectations or tension or unanswered questions, just the calm kind of silence that has no desire to be filled with words. It’s hard to come by with anyone else at the compound, even Clint always has a question to ask Wanda, has to know how she’s doing constantly. But not Natasha. And in moments like this, she’s desperately grateful for it. 

She breaks the silence as Natasha pours her a glass of wine. 

“Since when do you drink wine?” She asks as she takes the full glass from Natasha’s outstretched hand. 

“Since we had it in the kitchen,” Natasha says with a smile, taking a sip of her own glass. Wanda chuckles and copies Natasha. The wine is sweet, and it begins to warm Wanda’s chest after a couple of sips. 

“Why have you been moping around today?” Natasha asks. Wanda looks over at meets her gaze, but finds only sincerity, and not the annoyance she had expected. 

“I haven’t been moping,” she protests, but she knows its futile, knows her eyes are still swollen from the afternoon she’d spent crying. 

“I’m not stupid,” Natasha says, “seriously, is something wrong?” 

“I mean, I don’t know,” Wanda struggles to find the right words. “It’s just one of those days, I guess.”

Natasha nods, something like recognition playing across her features, and they sink into silence again as they sip their glasses. Natasha shifts so she’s sitting against the bed next to Wanda, their arms not touching, but close enough that Wanda can feel the heat coming off of Natasha’s body. Can smell the strawberry vanilla shampoo she uses. Maybe it’s the wine, but she feels her lips start to loosen and she starts to talk again. 

“I kind of feel ungrateful. I mean, you guys helped me out. Let me live here and take care of me. And I’m just sad and angry all the time.” 

“Nobody’s expecting you not to be sad Wanda,” Natasha says, Wanda can feel the other woman’s gaze on her but she doesn’t turn her head to meet her eyes, afraid the tears tickling the backs of her eyes will show themselves. 

“I know but,” Wanda says, her voice practically a whisper, “why don’t I feel better?”

“Because it doesn’t just happen once you get in a better situation. It takes time. And even then, you can still have bad days. You can’t beat yourself up for that,” Natasha says. 

The words coming out of Natasha’s mouth don’t sound like they’re just for Wanda, it sounds like she’s speaking to herself too. Wanda finally turns her head to look at the other woman, whose gaze is forward, focused on her hands gripping the wine glass in front of her, on her arms resting on her knees. For some reason, she doesn’t mind the vulnerable state she’s put herself in, doesn’t mind that at any second Natasha could look over and see her staring at her. Instead she looks at Natasha, like really looks at her. At the slope of her nose, at the intensity in her eyes and the flush in her cheeks. Her hair is tied up and out of her face, the way it usually is when she’s at the compound, except for a couple tendrils of soft red that have escaped the bun, contrasting with the green of her irises but complimenting them at the same time. It’s easy to forget the kind of life Natasha had before she joined the team and Wanda finds herself searching for any trace of it in the redhead’s expression now, but she comes up empty. 

“Wanda?” Natasha’s voice pulls her out of her trance-like state, and she feels her face flush. Natasha is staring right back at her, the twist of her smirk drawing Wanda’s attention like a fire alarm. She realizes she’s staring at Natasha’s mouth and she brings her eyes swiftly upwards, meeting the sparkling green of her eyes that are currently burning with intensity. 

“Hmm?” she says, chest fluttering at the look on Natasha’s face. 

“You want me to paint your nails?” Natasha catches one of Wanda’s hands in her own and brings it closer to her face, like she’s inspecting it. “They’re all chipped and gross.” 

“Gross?” Wanda rips her hand out of Natasha’s, a scandalized scowl on her face and Natasha laughs. 

“I’m kidding, but seriously. Do you want me to?” the almost hopeful look in her eyes makes Wanda say yes, and before she knows it, Natasha’s sitting across from her with a bottle of black nail polish and more focus on her face than she’s ever seen. Their legs are crossed so their knees are touching, and Wanda tries to look past Natasha’s face to watch the news channel playing softly on the TV behind her, trying her best not to distract herself or Natasha as a result of their proximity. 

“So are you okay with what Steve talked to me about?” Natasha asks. Wanda doesn’t quite hear her the first time, the news channel has launched into their nightly recap, or rather, five-times-a-night recap of the events in Sokovia. The media had been relentless since everything had happened, and it felt extremely strange to suddenly be thrust into the spotlight in the wake of such a horrible experience. Like she was living some stranger’s nightmare. But when Natasha repeats the question it draws Wanda’s attention, and she looks away from the TV. 

“I think it is a good idea,” she says, but the tone of her voice sounds as if she’s trying to convince herself her words are true, and Natasha catches it. The redhead looks up at Wanda. 

“Are you sure?” She asks. 

“Yeah, I mean, Steve can’t really spar with me without accidentally breaking me in half.” Wanda chuckles, but Natasha has challenge in her eyes. 

“Are you saying I couldn’t break you in half?” 

The words are met with a flash of heat low in her stomach, and the feeling of Natasha’s lips against hers is suddenly at the forefront of her mind. 

“No, uh- that’s not what I- I mean you could. If you wanted.” Wanda mentally curses herself as the words come out in an incoherent jumble, her cheeks beginning to flush. 

“Good girl.” 

Natasha leans back down to resume painting Wanda’s nails as if the words she just spoke hadn’t caused a tidal wave of arousal to crash over Wanda, all the nerves in her body becoming hyperconscious of the closeness of their bodies. She struggles to maintain her composure as Natasha finishes painting the last nail on her left hand and caps the nail polish, placing the bottle on the floor next to her. Natasha reaches for her right hand and taps on the nails lightly with the pads of her fingers, checking to see if their dry. When she finds that they are, she laces her fingers with Wanda’s with a satisfied sigh. 

“I wanted to talk to you about something else,” Natasha says, her voice seems to have dropped an octave since the last time she spoke, and it sends a chill down Wanda’s spine. Wanda begs her eyes to stay focused on the TV behind Natasha, despite the fact that she can feel the other woman’s eyes on her face. She almost felt overstimulated, like she might explode at the attention Natasha was paying to her. She clears her throat, really just a cover up to give herself an extra second to prepare for whatever Natasha was about to say. 

“What?” She’s surprised at the steadiness to her voice. 

“Our kiss. I wanted to talk to you about it earlier but you didn’t seem like you were in the mood,” then she’s leaning forward, towards Wanda, and her other hand is slowly raking her nails up Wanda’s thigh. Wanda draws in a sharp breath as Natasha’s mouth is suddenly right next to ear. “What’s so interesting about the news, Wanda?” 

“Um, nothing,” she says, her voice embarrassingly high pitched and no longer steady, Natasha’s breath so close to her neck is causing goosebumps to form all over her body and she can feel the energy underneath her skin buzzing with restlessness, the anticipation begging Wanda to release it. 

“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on then?” Natasha asks. It’s such a strange request that Wanda doesn’t think to protest it, blinking her eyes into focus and keying in her senses to the muffled audio of the news station. 

“Um, okay well, they are talking about Tony again and how-“ her words are cut off as all the air leaves her body at the sensation of Natasha’s lips against her neck. Her entire body tenses in response, and her eyes close as the woman’s lips move slowly against the skin of her neck. 

“Why’d you stop?” Natasha’s voice hums against her, and Wanda opens her eyes, trying to focus them on the TV again. But Natasha’s teeth sink into her neck softly, drawing the skin into her mouth and sucking, and her eyes snap closed again. This time, the hand that’s not clasped in Natasha’s jerks up to grab onto her hip and pull her closer. Natasha releases the skin from her mouth and soothes the area with her tongue, the feeling causing Wanda to release a quiet moan from the back of her throat that she catches as soon as she hears it. Her right hand struggles against the pressure of Natasha’s, trying desperately to free itself, but Wanda’s attempts are feeble compared to the strength in Natasha’s grip. The arousal clouding her mind, and the desire building between her thighs don’t really equate to the greatest decision making abilities, so she doesn’t have the proper judgement to stop what she does next. 

It’s a tiny burst of red energy, causing Natasha’s grip on her right hand to retract in surprise, the millisecond of hesitation enough for Wanda to snake her arm in between their bodies to grip the back of Natasha’s neck with her hand. And it almost gets there. Before she finds herself flat on her back a half second later, both of her arms pinned to the ground and an irritated Natasha Romanoff staring down at her. 

“What was that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so sorry for how long this took!! my exams decided to be hard? and then my work actually scheduled me on days i said i could work? anyways, hope this is okay :)


	4. Chapter 4

Worry tugs at Natasha’s chest as she watches the younger girl escape back to her room the second Tony stops talking. The feeling manifests quickly, and Natasha feels the discomfort of it all the way down to her toes. She’s pulled back into the conversation about the mission by Steve asking her a question, nobody else in the room seeming to have noticed Wanda’s abrupt disappearance apart from her.

“You okay with Sam and Clint with you Nat?” Steve is asking about the next mission, the one they were set to leave for in seven days. 

“Uh, yeah that’s fine,” she answers, rubbing her palms together in an attempt to ground herself, to refocus on the task at hand. Why did she even care if Wanda was upset? She was practically still a teenager, teenagers were moody. Whatever. But a rock of uncertainty settles itself in her stomach as she walks with Steve to see Tony and Clint out.  
Steve turns to face her as soon as the elevator doors shut. 

“Gym?” he asks, crossing his arms across his chest and smiling like he knows the answer before Natasha has given it. 

“Meet you there in 5,” she responds, turning on her heel to change before the sentence is fully out of her mouth. 

Working out with Steve was both comforting and unnerving. The heavy bag Tony had reinforced to be able to support his strength looked like a cement wall next to Natasha’s simple black one, and every ‘thwack’ of Steve’s fist against it only served as a reminder of how strong the captain really was. However, it was that same phenomenon that filled her body with comforting calmness, the knowing feeling that Steve was on her side, that he could (and did) protect her put her mind as much at ease as it could be.

“Did Wanda seem off to you?” she asks after about twenty minutes of them punching their respective bags side by side, the gym having been silent, apart from their heavy breathing and the sounds of their fists hitting home. 

“She always seems off, don’t you think?” Steve asks, not bothering to even look over at her as the sound of his right hook echoes through the gym. 

“I guess so,” she says, turning back to her bag, agreeing with him but not really being satisfied with his answer. The image of Wanda’s back walking away from her plastered across her mind’s eye, and the unsettling knowledge that her bad mood might be Natasha’s fault. 

She glances over at Steve for a second, too quick for him to notice she’s looking but long enough to read his expression. He doesn’t look suspicious of her questions at all, thankfully. She turns back to her heavy bag and lands a right cross, sinking back into her workout and trying to drown out the anxieties lurking in her brain. 

It’s second nature at this point. Taking in food to Wanda after a long period of radio silence from the younger girl. It’s such a common thing for Natasha to do that she doesn’t think much into it until she’s a couple steps away from Wanda’s bedroom door, balancing way more than she can carry in her arms and skeptical of her decision.

She hesitates momentarily before steeling herself and knocking on Wanda’s door. 

And then, what feels like minutes later, she’s hovering over Wanda who’s looking humorously mischievous and her hand is buzzing with the reverberations of an electric shock. 

“Hmm?” Wanda asks, the hue of red lingering on the outside of her irises just barely visible. But Natasha notices; she finds it hard not to notice things about Wanda. 

“You shocked me,” she says matter-of-factly, like she’s daring Wanda to challenge her. Which she is. 

“I did,” Wanda says. 

“That’s kind of rude,” Natasha responds. 

“You’re sitting on me,” Wanda says, her accent biting, but Natasha can hear the humour behind the words. 

“It was a reflex,” Natasha shoots back, and she sits up, releasing the younger girl from beneath her. Wanda slowly props herself up, only to scoot back and lean back against the bed where she had been sitting moments ago. 

A tense energy falls between them almost as soon as they break contact. The room feels different for some reason, like both of them are waiting for an explanation that neither of them are going to give. It’s a foreign characteristic of Wanda’s company, and Natasha finds herself unable to break the silence. But ultimately, it was her who put them into this situation. She chances a glance at Wanda and finds her expression unreadable, like she’s actively forcing herself to not show her emotions. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Natasha asks. Wanda’s eyes dart over to meet hers. 

“I’m not good at talking,” she admits without skipping a beat. Natasha smiles, an effort to alleviate the awkward tension caught between them.  
“I’m not either.” 

It’s quiet again, apart from the rumblings of the newscaster’s voice who has finally ceased from talking about Tony. Wanda’s hands twitch, and Natasha can tell she’s trying her best not to read her. She’s grateful that Wanda has stuck to all of the promises she made in Sokovia, and she hopes the younger girl’s efforts haven’t gone unnoticed. She feels a rush of affection for Wanda then, and it catches her so off guard she draws in a sharp breath, causing Wanda to look up at her with concern. The room suddenly feels small and suffocating, the air around them thick with unspoken tension. Natasha gets to her feet slowly, trying not to show any discomfort on her face as she gathers the wine glasses and plates from the ground. 

“I’m gonna go to bed,” the words are rushed, she wonders if Wanda notices. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

She doesn’t wait for Wanda’s reply, the sound of the door closing behind her sending a chill down her spine as she walks as fast as she can back to her own room. 

The uneasiness from the night before still hangs heavily on Natasha’s bones when she enters the kitchen after her morning run. She hadn’t been able to sleep, not an uncommon occurrence, and she had been out running before the sun had come up. Had watched the glowing yellow of the morning trickle through the tree branches as her mind turned. 

She’s grateful that Steve isn’t awake yet, busying herself with the calming routine of making coffee in the comforting silence of the empty kitchen. Her body still felt restless, despite the comforting ache of her muscles from her run, like something just wasn’t right. Natasha wasn’t one to ignore her instincts, far from it. And she hated that she knew exactly where her discomfort was coming from. 

“Miss Romanoff,” her body tenses up instantaneously at the words, but relaxes almost as soon as she processes the voice. She turns to see Vision on the other side of the counter, looking at her with an expectant sort of caution. 

“Vision,” she says, not quite sure what’s blessed her with a visit from the android before six in the morning. 

“I’m sorry if I startled you,” he says, sincerity laced through the words. 

“Not possible,” she says, she doesn’t bother asking him why he’s here, at this time. She doesn’t really think it possible to understand his actions. 

“Somethings on your mind,” he says matter-of-factly, and it bugs Natasha. Bugs her because it seems like all of a sudden, everyone in the house can read her so easily, despite years of practice concealing her emotions. 

“You’re right,” she says, turning to pour the rest of the coffee out of the French press into her mug, and taking her time in rinsing it out for Steve to use when he got up, and indirectly giving Vision the opportunity to vacate the kitchen. But Vision wasn’t one for picking up social cues, and she finds him in the exact same position when she turns again to face him. 

“Did you want to talk about it?” he asks, the monotone of his voice still coming across as compassionate, heartfelt. 

Natasha takes a sip of her coffee, letting the warmth pool on her tongue and warm her cheeks before she swallows. She’s seen the way Vision looks at Wanda, with a kind of awe that he seldom used. The kind of look Natasha could tell made Wanda uncomfortable, knew she didn’t like when people looked at her like that. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but it didn’t sit right with Natasha all the same. 

“What do you think of Wanda?” Natasha asks, her tone casual, overplaying nonchalance. 

“I think she’s a lot more powerful than we all give her credit for,” Vision answers quickly, like he’s been waiting for somebody to ask this very question, “but I don’t think she gives herself enough credit either, would you agree?” 

“I don’t know her very well,” Natasha says carefully. 

“You know her a lot better than everyone else here,” Vision argues, his gaze boring into Natasha’s earnestly. 

“I think you’re overestimating me,” Natasha answers with a forced laugh, she suddenly realizes she doesn’t have any idea what she wants out of this conversation and she’s immediately annoyed with herself at showing any degree of vulnerability in front of an almost-stranger. She pushes her hair off of her forehead with a sharp tug and begins walking in the direction of her room. 

“I’ll talk to you later,” she says to Vision as she breezes past, missing the quizzical look he aims at her disappearing form. 

“You’re not keeping enough tension in your core,” it’s hours later, and she’s in the gym with Wanda for their first training session. They’re not alone, thankfully, Steve, Sam and Clint are all puttering about doing their own workouts. She can see out of the corner of her eye Steve is going a little bit slower than normal, only using equipment that is within earshot of her and Wanda and she smiles a little to herself about how much he’s grown to care for Wanda. 

“What do you mean?” Wanda’s accent is threaded through her words as she drops her arms in frustration. 

“I mean, if your core isn’t tight, you’re going to get knocked over easier,” Natasha says, gesturing to her own torso that is visibly flexed underneath her tight tank top, the muscles taut. 

“Okay,” Wanda’s face is screwed up with concentration as she noticeably tightens her abdomen muscles, causing the rest of her body to rise up.

“Okay, now you’re not set in your stance. You need to bend your knees more,” Natasha once again motions to the way she’s standing, her feet offset, knees bent and her weight on the balls of her feet so she can move easily. Wanda tries to mirror Natasha again, tongue poking out from her closed lips as she shifts her weight from foot to foot, readjusting the position of her legs until they match Natasha’s.

“Are you ready?” Natasha asks, raising her fists up to her face in a boxer’s stance. Wanda nods and Natasha darts forward toward her, Wanda jumps back, readjusting to Natasha’s approach, keeping her fists up. But she steps back too far, putting her stance off and her shoulders drop as she falls off balance.

“You need to stay in your stance, otherwise I can just knock you over,” Natasha says, “I’m going easy on you right now.” 

“I know,” Wanda’s arms drop in annoyance and she steps back from Natasha, pushing her hair off her forehead, “Steve was way nicer than you.” 

“Yeah cause Steve’s a softie, come on, again,” Natasha gestures to where her hands are still by her face, ignoring the ‘Hey, I heard that!’ from across the gym from Steve, “just imagine a string is between your ankles.” She bounces and turns on the spot, trying to display how she stays set in her stance wherever she turns. Wanda reluctantly brings her hands up again and copies her movements. 

“Good, now just do it when I come at you,” Natasha says, meeting Wanda’s eyes and nodding at her encouragingly, “this time, I’ll knock you over.” 

Wanda nods back at her and she lowers down in her stance again, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet as she anticipates Natasha’s approach. Natasha moves forward, a bit slower than before to give Wanda a chance to move. Wanda spins on her foot, readjusting to meet Natasha’s attack and staying in her stance perfectly. 

“Good,” Natasha says. She shifts sideways, Wanda follows her, her feet staying in position. But then she moves backwards quickly, spins to the side and comes forward again. Wanda’s movements aren’t as fast as hers, and instead of staying in position and moving quicker to catch Natasha, she reaches with her foot to keep up, completely throwing her off her balance. Natasha sticks to her word, sweeping with her foot, mostly on instinct due to Wanda’s loss of balance. Wanda falls backwards and lands on the mat with a ‘thwack,’ the sound echoing loudly through the gym. 

A cheer rings out, from a voice that Natasha wasn’t expecting, and she looks up to see Tony standing there. He pulls off his sunglasses and tosses a grin from where he’s standing at the top of the staircase into the gym. 

“All hands on deck Maximoff,” he calls out and Natasha looks over at Wanda who has gotten to her feet, her irises flaming red. Tony notices as he approaches and he claps a hand on Wanda’s shoulder, “relax kid, I’m just joking.”

He turns to where Steve is standing next to the training mat, arms crossed and looking slightly unimpressed that Tony’s just interrupted his workout in the middle of the afternoon. 

“Why are you here?” Steve asks, his tone less intimidating than his body language comes across. 

“I’m here to announce my impromptu party tonight,” he says, eyebrows waggling at Steve.

“We just had a party,” Clint says, “like, two days ago.” 

“That was not a party,” Tony scoffs, “that was a small gathering of close friends. _This _is a party, a birthday party for Pepper who has just told me she’s going to be in DC for her actual birthday to avoid me throwing her a party.”__

__“Jesus Tony, I don’t know why she puts up with you,” Natasha sighs, rolling her eyes. He holds up a finger to Natasha._ _

__“Don’t pull at that thread, Romanoff,” he says, already walking back towards the door to the gym, “I’ll see you all at seven, and I expect you all to look presentable.”_ _

__

__“Nat, we’re leaving,” Steve raps on her door with his knuckles and she pulls open the door, wiping at the corner of her mouth with her thumb to catch any smudges in her cherry red lipstick._ _

__“Looking good Romanoff,” Steve says, looking approvingly at her leather skirt and tight red long sleeve shirt, the colour just a couple shades darker than her lipstick._ _

__“Thanks Rogers, you too,” she tugs adoringly at his usual long sleeve button up, shutting her door behind her and following him down the hallway, her heels clicking on the wood as she walks. They round the corner into the kitchen where Sam, Vision and Wanda are standing near the door. Natasha falters when she sees Wanda, who is wearing a hunter green dress cinched at her waist and kissing her mid-thigh, leaving a long stretch of her pale legs visible. Her hair is tied up into a painfully cute ponytail and the light catches her golden earrings, big hoops she swears she’s seen Laura wear before. She catches Wanda’s gaze, who’s cheeks warm when she sees Natasha, her eyes grazing her body up and down before snapping up again to meet hers. They smile at each other from across the kitchen but the moment is soon broken, Vision stepping in front of her view of Wanda to offer her his arm so he can escort her outside._ _

__“You want to come with me and Sam?” Steve’s voice cuts into her train of thought, a wave of jealousy crashing over her, so strong it makes her breath catch in her throat._ _

__“Yeah, sure,” she nods at Steve, not really paying attention as she follows the two of them outside to get into one of the cars at the compound, following Clint’s SUV off the property and into the city._ _

__Tony’s place is packed, the room far more crowded than Natasha had expected at such short notice. She immediately recognizes most of the guests as SHIELD and Stark Industries employees, and she wanders over to the bar with Steve and Sam. She accepts the beer Steve hands her, scanning the crowd half-heartedly as she takes a sip and leans back against the counter. She finds Pepper, looking properly annoyed next to Tony, sipping her martini with a flourish. Natasha laughs softly and idly reminds herself to wish the woman a happy birthday at some point in the night._ _

__A couple beers later she’s settled into the couch next to Steve and Sam, who won’t stop talking about the next mission. It’s mostly for information gathering purposes, just another attempt to rid the world of Hydra as much as they can, and she knows Steve won’t admit it, but to find Bucky. She watches Steve’s face carefully when he talks about Bucky, the way his eyes soften, and she knows he won’t feel any kind of peace until he’s at the compound with the rest of them. Until Steve knows he’s safe. It’s at a time like this where she’d normally go and find Wanda. When the male presence starts to suffocate her and she craves a rational female voice to talk about something other than work. She searches the crowd for what feels like the hundredth time, looking for the telltale auburn hair and soft features of the younger woman, she finds her, finally, near the bar. She looks around Wanda for Vision, considering he’d been stuck to her like glue for the whole night, but he’s not anywhere around. In fact, Wanda is alone at the bar, surrounded on all sides by random men. She recognizes them by their suits as some sort of Stark employees, but she can’t recall ever seeing them before. They’re young, young enough to be interns probably, closer to Wanda’s age than to her own. One of them reaches up and his hand makes contact with Wanda’s lower back, and Natasha’s vision goes white._ _

__“I’ll be right back,” she says distractedly to Steve, already getting to her feet and walking towards Wanda as fast as her heels can take her. She gets to her in less than ten seconds, slipping into the crowd deftly and grabbing her arm, sliding in between her and the nearest stranger._ _

__“Hey Wanda, how’s it going?” Natasha leans close to Wanda to read her expression and she finds it cloudy, that’s when she smells it. The scent of vodka rolls off of Wanda, and hits Natasha’s nose when Wanda opens her mouth with glee._ _

__“Nat!” she practically shrieks, throwing her arms around Natasha, the Stark interns forgotten in her exuberance._ _

__“Are you drunk?” Natasha asks, unwrapping Wanda’s arms from her neck and holding her wrists in front of her. Wanda looks sheepish, her expressions exaggerated in her inebriated state._ _

__“I dunno, maybe a bit,” she says, trying to hold up her hand to make a pinching sign with her hand but Natasha tightens her grip on the younger girl’s wrists. Wanda bursts out laughing, a loud raucous sound and she leans into Natasha unsteadily, using her for balance so she doesn’t fall over._ _

__“Why don’t we go to the bathroom?” Natasha asks Wanda, already beginning to lead her out of the crowd by both hands, walking backwards slightly so she can make sure Wanda doesn’t fall over. She’s surprisingly steady on her feet as she walks through the crowd, eyes slightly glazed over as she pays close attention to where she’s placing her heel clad feet. Natasha leads her upstairs and away from the party, near the guest rooms and where she knows will be empty. She pushes Wanda into the bathroom in one of the rooms, following her in and closing the door behind them._ _

__“I don’t have to go,” Wanda says, leaning against the wall across from the sink and pouting at Natasha. Her drunken voice is so thick with her Sokovian accent it makes Natasha’s chest tight._ _

__“Just have some water then,” Natasha says, turning the tap and letting ice cold water tumble into the sink, gesturing for Wanda to drink. She does, falling back against the wall again after turning off the tap and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand._ _

__“You’re really beautiful,” Wanda says, looking over at Natasha, a sharp tone of seriousness in her voice._ _

__“Okay Wanda,” Natasha laughs, crossing her arms over her chest and looking up at the ceiling, letting the quiet and calm of the bathroom wash over her._ _

__“No, I mean it,” Wanda says, all of a sudden frustrated. Natasha looks down and sees Wanda walking over to her, looking almost sober with the set of her jaw, and all of a sudden she has both of her arms pressed against the wall of the bathroom door, closing Natasha in. Natasha meets Wanda’s eyes, all evidence of her drunkenness has been replaced with a hot sort of frustration that makes the edges of her hazel irises light up scarlet. Natasha’s eyes flutter closed when Wanda’s lips press against hers, the coldness of her lips from the sink water a stark contrast from the rest of her body, warm where it presses into her own, forcing her back to sit flush against the wood of the door. Where their first kiss was slow, searching, this kiss is desperate. Wanda’s lips move against Natasha’s like she’s water in a drought, seeming to take her apart with every swipe of her tongue, licking into her mouth with hunger. Natasha’s hands reach up to grab at Wanda’s throat and jaw, moving one back to pull the hair at the nape of her neck, pulling her mouth closer impatiently. Wanda breaks the kiss to bite at Natasha’s neck, leaving rough, open mouthed kisses over the surface of Natasha’s skin, moving dangerously close to the neckline of her shirt. Natasha pulls at Wanda’s ponytail to bring her mouth up back to her own, sinking her teeth into Wanda’s bottom lip just to hear the gasp that escapes from Wanda’s mouth._ _

__“Do you want to leave?” Natasha asks, already reaching behind her to find the doorknob of the bathroom, Wanda nods, pulling down at her dress to straighten it, and follows Natasha out of the bathroom._ _

__She persuades Clint to give her the keys to his car and soon they’re pulling into the completely dark complex, up the elevator and tumbling into Natasha’s bed. Natasha doesn’t really have time to realize that this is the first time she’s had anyone in her room before, let alone in her bed. Doesn’t have time because Wanda is pulling at her shirt, at the hem of her skirt, at whatever she can get her hands on to pull Natasha closer from where she’s hovering above her. Natasha presses her leg into the apex of Wanda’s thighs and fists the waist of her dress, kissing into her mouth urgently._ _

__“I thought we were going to talk about this,” Wanda gasps out between kisses, and Natasha stops, looking into Wanda’s eyes that are clouded with arousal or alcohol or both._ _

__“Do you want to talk?” she asks, pressing again with her thigh into Wanda, causing her back to arch and her hips to snap up. Wanda grabs the neckline of Natasha’s shirt, pulling her mouth to hers and effectively ending the conversation. Wanda moves her hands down, pulling Natasha’s shirt from where its tucked into her skirt and drags it upwards, slowly revealing her abdomen and pushing it over the expanse of her breasts and over her head. As soon as the shirt is out of the way Wanda’s hands are on her breasts swinging full and heavy between them, and Natasha draws in a breath at the sensation, arching into Wanda’s hands._ _

__“Holy shit Nat,” Wanda whispers, Natasha opens her eyes and sees Wanda looking at her body with a kind of awe, her gaze lingering on the swell of Natasha’s breasts._ _

__“Let me see you,” Natasha whispers back, dragging the dress over Wanda’s shoulders, pulling it down her body just as Wanda had done with her shirt. She slowly reveals Wanda’s chest, then her breasts encased in white lace and finally pulls the dress down her hips and off of her legs, tossing it off of the bed._ _

__“Fuck Wanda,” she barely recognizes her own voice, the heat pooling low in her stomach making it thick with lust. She settles back over Wanda’s body, barely noticing as Wanda unzips her skirt and tosses it to the side, leaving her legs open to straddle Wanda’s hips and press into her. Something feels different now, their kisses are slow, making Natasha’s chest ache with the softness. The softness of Wanda’s feather light touches on her rib cage, on her hips. The softness of the air, thick with arousal around them. She kisses down Wanda’s neck and onto her chest, soft presses of her lips against the hot surface of Wanda’s skin. Soft cries fall out of Wanda’s mouth at her actions as she slowly pulls her bra off, leaving her breasts exposed to the warm air of the bedroom. She moves back for a second, watching the rise and fall of Wanda’s chest as she breathes, the slow movement of her breasts that are much fuller than Natasha had expected._ _

__“Nat,” Wanda chokes out, reaching for her head and trying to pull it to her chest, “please Nat.”  
Natasha normally doesn’t like being told what to do, but this is Wanda. This is Wanda who’s trusting and open and delirious with arousal beneath her. She leans down and closes her mouth over one of Wanda’s nipples, sucking softly as a sound of contentment comes out of Wanda’s mouth, her entire body arching off the bed to get closer to Natasha’s mouth, one of her hands coming up to fist into her hair. She suckles gently, tongue swiping over Wanda’s nipple hardening in her mouth, and grips Wanda’s hip trying to limit their movement as they arch up searching for relief._ _

__“Nat, we need to go,” the voice makes both women pause. It’s Steve on the other side of Natasha’s door, his voice sharp and charged with tension._ _

__“What is it Steve?” She calls back, panic rising in her chest and she swallows thickly._ _

__“We need to go. Now.” He pauses but she knows he’s still there. “It’s Bucky.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so sorry for how long this took, i really had a place i wanted to get to before i switched to wanda's POV. and sorry for ~kindof~ another cliffhanger ill try to get the next one out faster :)
> 
> also hope you're all with the people you love at this crazy time, stay safe! xx


	5. Chapter 5

Natasha is up and off of her bed in a whirl of panic and red hair, faster than Wanda can really register what’s happening; the combination of alcohol and arousal hanging like a cloud over her mind and causing everything to fuzz around the edges. She catches up quickly though, scooting her body back to lean against the headboard and bunching the sheet up to cover her naked chest, watching Natasha pull her tactical suit up and onto her body. She reaches into the closet for her utility belt, cinching it around her waist in one fluid motion, jaw set with the unwavering focus that always occupies Natasha’s face before she leaves for a mission. Wanda watches her for a moment, almost in a daze as her heart rate slows and her brain untangles the events that had just transpired, thighs clenching in an attempt to quell the burning between them. 

“Nat,” she all but whispers, meeting the red head’s gaze when it finds hers, eyes wide like she had forgotten Wanda was there. 

“I know, I know,” Natasha says, dropping Wanda’s eyes to grab her phone from the dresser and slide it into a pocket on her waist, then grabbing an almost invisible communication unit from the same dresser top and sliding it over her ear. Natasha looks for a second like she’s about to go over to Wanda, but she seems to think better of it, stepping into her shoes by the door and turning towards the younger woman. 

“I’ll be back soon, alright?” Her emerald eyes are earnest, but Wanda can see the edge to them, the edge they always have when Natasha’s in work mode, the edge that tells her that her mind is already elsewhere. With Steve and the Quinjet and whatever the assignment is. 

“Okay,” Wanda nods, swallowing all the words she really wants to say. Natasha’s eyes narrow for a second before she sighs softly and opens the door to leave, it closes with a slam behind her, leaving Wanda in Natasha’s room, alone. 

Wanda swallows thickly, the reality of the situation settling over her, made slightly difficult by the state of drunkenness (tipsiness) she was currently in. She hadn’t meant to get drunk, hadn’t mean to drink at all really. She normally hated the way it made her feel out of control, more out of control than she usually felt anyways. But Vision had swept her away the second she came down into the lobby, not that she didn’t like Vision’s company, but he wasn’t really who Wanda had hoped to spend time with that night. But every time she looked over at Natasha, hoping to catch the red head’s gaze, she was talking to some SHIELD agent or Stark employee or someone of the like, flipping her hair over her shoulder and smiling dazzlingly in the way Wanda knew didn’t mean anything, but it made her stomach twist just the same. 

And so, once she had managed to extrapolate herself from Vision’s watchful eyes, she made her way over to the bar, finding herself amidst a crowd of Stark interns who seemed to know a little bit too much about her and who seemed far too excited that she had made her way over to them. The attention was nice, it was from the wrong source, but it was nice all the same; she lost track of the amount of drinks that were handed to her. 

And then Nat was there. All sweet smelling and warm hands and red lips. And now here she was, naked and alone in the bed of someone she loved. Who thought of her as a friend. Fuck. 

The frustration sends red sparks between her fingers and she clenches her hands into fists. She looks around, realizing for the first time that she was in Natasha’s room. It wasn’t as decorated as Wanda would expect it to be, but it looked well-lived in. Everything was dark wood and soft red hues, and impeccably clean. She stands up from the bed, immediately aware of her nakedness but not willing to put on the dress she had been wearing at the party. 

Normal people would probably decorate the top of a dresser with framed photos or personal things but there’s nothing on Natasha’s, just a small dish where Wanda guesses she keeps her comm. She opens up a few drawers in a daze, running her fingers over the fabric of the clothes, searching until she finds a pair of brand new looking black spandex and slips them on, feeling immediately more comfortable now that she’s wearing something.

She wanders over to Nat’s closet and opens it, the hook where her tactical suit hangs is empty, and all the hooks for her weapons and utility belt are the same. There’s not much else in the closet, less than a dozen dresses and other formal-looking attire to the far right, and what Wanda’s looking for, a couple of huge hoodies hanging right near the opening. She pulls a black one off of its hanger, the front emblazoned with a dark grey SHIELD logo, pulling it on and breathing a sigh of relief as the smoky, vanilla bean scent of Natasha invades her nostrils.  
She hears it then, a faint whirring sound that she immediately identifies as coming from the Quinjet. She walks briskly over to the floor to ceiling window at the back wall of Natasha’s room, moving the curtains to the side so she can peer out the window and into the inky blackness of the night. Natasha’s room is on the top floor of the compound, so it’s easy for Wanda to see the entire property stretching all the way to the treeline, and the Quinjet as it slowly lifts into the air at the edge of the building. 

She doesn’t really know what she’s trying to do until she’s already done it, closing her eyes and pitching her consciousness forward towards the Quinjet almost desperately in hopes that she’ll latch onto something, and then all of a sudden she’s with Natasha. She can feel the Quinjet wobble underneath her feet, can hear Steve’s voice muttering deeply next to her, can feel the unease in the middle of Natasha’s chest. Almost immediately she knows Natasha knows she’s there, and that she let her in on purpose. She opens her eyes and watches the woman she loves go farther and farther into the night, holding the connection as long as she can until it abruptly cuts off, the Quinjet out of her eyeline and the night air suddenly cold and sharp around her. 

Wanda wakes up the next morning with a start, sitting up abruptly and unable to recognize her surroundings. The night before comes back to her in bits and pieces, like a room coming into focus in the dark, and she groans softly into her pillow. No, not her pillow, _Natasha’s_ pillow. She sits up slowly and draws her knees up to look around. She seems to have left the drapes open last night because the sun has barely just graced the horizon, but its buttery, yellow rays spilling in through the glass were the culprit of her current wakefulness. At, she chanced a glance at the clock next to Natasha’s bed, 6:23 in the morning. 

Her head twinges painfully as she gets up out of the bed, tossing the covers back haphazardly over the mattress and grabbing her dress from the ground where it lay in a crumpled heap next to Natasha’s clothes from the night before. She grabs those too and leaves Natasha’s room, tossing the clothes in the laundry chute in the hallway and walking blindly towards the kitchen. The kitchen is, thankfully, empty at this hour. She’s glad nobody is awake to see her walk dazedly into the empty room, stumbling towards the kettle and wiping at her eyes as she goes, mascara from the night before flaking off into her hands. 

She sets the kettle on and leans forward onto the counter, head in her hands, trying to breathe through the gross, heavy feeling of being hungover currently weighing down her body. She’d never liked getting drunk, it always reminded her of the days before her and Pietro had volunteered for the experiments. They spent weeks trying to find any work, scouring the streets and the shopfronts for anyone who needed an extra hand. A few weeks after their seventeenth birthday they swindled their way into washing dishes at a small takeout restaurant, and they spent their first pay check buying as much food as they could carry back to the abandoned house they slept in. Pietro had convinced one of the line cooks to sneak them a bottle of vodka from the liquor store across from the restaurant. They passed it back and forth between them, taking sips of the sharp liquid in between bites of the finest bread and cheese that had ever passed their lips, drunk on the feeling of even the slightest bit of stability. That had been the last job they had before Strucker had found them. 

The shriek of the tea kettle and the burning of tears at the back of her eyelids jolt Wanda like a bolt of electricity, and she fumbles with the kettle a few times before successfully shutting it off. The act of making tea is enough to slow her heart rate, and she begrudgingly walks over to the fridge, semi-angrily grabbing a container of yogurt from the shelf as Natasha’s voice in her head screams at her to eat. 

The morning develops slowly around her. She watches the sunrise from her favourite armchair in the corner of the living room and eats her yogurt slowly, forcing herself to empty the container and sip at her mug of tea. It’s almost eight o’clock when another soul enters the kitchen, and she’s not sure if she’s relieved or disappointed when Vision floats in. 

“Wanda,” he says as he approaches her, stopping in front of the armchair she’s sitting in and gazing out of the window next to her. 

“Good morning,” she says cautiously, “do you know who left last night?” 

“It was my assumption that Mr. Rogers took Agent Barton, Agent Romanoff and Mr. Wilson with him,” Vision says, not looking away from the window as he spoke, “I heard Agent Romanoff asking Mr. Rogers to call Mr. Stark, but I am not sure if he did.” 

Wanda nods, swallowing the anxiety that rises like a wave in the pit of her stomach and into her chest. She hated this part of being the newest member of the team. Steve wouldn’t let her on a mission unless it was low risk, which meant that anything Steve Rogers deemed risky, she wasn’t allowed to partake in; she ended up in this very armchair awaiting the return of her team a lot. It wasn’t that she didn’t agree with Steve, she knew more than anyone about how out of control of her powers she was. 

“Did you say goodbye to Agent Romanoff before she left?” Vision asks, looking at her now, a questioning sort of sincerity in his eyes. 

“Um, yes. Yes I did,” Wanda sips at her tea to give Vision some time to explain how he knows they were together the night before, but her just stares at her. “How did you know?” 

“I saw you two leave Mr. Stark’s party last night,” Vision says. He says it like he’s waiting for Wanda to give an explanation, but Wanda knows he doesn’t need one. She didn’t necessarily look in the mirror before her and Natasha left the bathroom, but she can guess how they both probably looked. She stares back at Vision, excuses for their disappearance floating into her head but never making their way to her lips, before she huffs in frustration and stands up from the chair. She’s not really in the mood to be analyzed by Vision before eight in the morning, she didn’t owe him an explanation for anything. He shouldn’t have been spying on them in the first place. 

“I’m going to go for a walk,” she mumbles out an apology before stalking hastily into the kitchen, setting her mug in the sink, her empty yogurt container in the trash and turning on her heel towards her bedroom.

Less than ten minutes later she’s outside the compound, the sun at her back and her footfalls purposeful and even. She’d traded out her spandex for a pair of leggings, and she had a black baseball cap pulled down low over her auburn hair. She’s nowhere near being in the mood to be recognized today. She makes it to the grocery store in less time than she had expected, pulling out a piece of ripped notebook paper from her hoodie pocket and spreading it out on her thigh. The mismatched scrawls of her teammates made her heart ache as she heads towards the produce, but she steels herself and begins picking out apples at Sam’s request. 

After the grocery store she indulges herself by walking the few extra blocks to the used book store. Her and Pietro hadn’t been in school since they were nine years old, and she was embarrassed of her English writing and reading skills. Upon letting Steve know this particular insecurity of hers, he had brought her here, and helped her pick out a few books that she would be able to read herself. Since then, she’d been here on several occasions, and her reading skills had improved immensely thanks to the captain. The clerk recognizes her, a short brunette girl named Clara, and she smiles brightly when Wanda walks in, pulling out a stack of books from behind the counter and pressing them into Wanda’s hands with a smile and a promise that she would enjoy them. Wanda hands Clara a few bills, stashes the books in her shoulder bag and leaves the store, heading back towards the empty compound. 

Wanda breathes a sigh of relief when she enters the kitchen and finds it empty, she closes her eyes and focuses on the rest of the floor, stretching out her senses and only opening her eyes when she has confirmed that Vision is nowhere near her. She’s not in the mood for his analytical, judgemental presence. She unloads the groceries methodically, reorganizing the fridge in the process and ultimately decides to just do the dishes; it wasn’t like she alone was going to make a huge mess before everyone else got back. The chores are calming, and by the time she’s back in her armchair with a book and her second mug of tea of the day, she has managed to quell the anxiety, at least for the time being. 

The day stretches on endlessly it seems, until the afternoon finally retires into evening, and the sky starts to darken again. Wanda watches from the window, eyes trained on the horizon hopefully. They’d been gone almost 18 hours now, but she knew missions could easily take ten times that long depending on what the task was. And Wanda knew less than nothing about what they had left her to do. She can feel the nerves creeping up her body, causing her legs to twitch uncomfortably and making it next to impossible to focus on the book she had clasped in her hands. She slams it shut and presses her head into her empty hands, trying in vain to stop her thoughts from spiraling, to stop herself from falling into a hurricane of panic. 

She stands up, book forgotten, and tries to walk slowly to her bedroom, breathing deeply and counting her steps until she’s inside. She changes back into her (Natasha’s) spandex and sits on the edge of her bed, her chest almost heaving with the care she’s taking to inflate her lungs. She tries to lie back but her body is practically buzzing with restlessness, like ants are traveling up and down her limbs. She hates being alone, has always hated it. She was a twin, what did she really expect. But this was some kind of special torture, it didn’t matter how she felt about it, at least if she was there hidden away on the Quinjet she could feel what was happening. But she was too far away here, cut off from everyone and trapped in her own mind. 

She shouldn’t really be surprised when not five minutes later she’s opening the door to Natasha’s bedroom and stepping inside, shutting the door and falling back against it as the comforting scent of the room envelops her. She switches on the lamp next to the bed, the covers are twisted up and messy like she left them this morning, but they’re drenched in the warm, smoky scent of the woman she loves. She collapses into the bed and turns towards the window, the drapes still open from the night before, watching the night until her eyelids finally fall closed. 

The overwhelming sensation of Natasha’s proximity is what wakes her, she’s in such a deep sleep she doesn’t think it’s real when she blinks her eyes open and sees a figure standing before her, her brain telling her its Natasha before the woman fully comes into focus.

“Nat,” she whispers, her voice thick with sleep and desperate with relief, she reaches her sleep heavy hands towards Natasha, finding the thick material of her tactical suit and pulling her towards her. 

“Did you miss me?” Natasha whispers back, her voice gravelly and slightly uplifted, like the fact that she returned to find Wanda in her bed is amusing to her. Wanda’s eyes finally focus on Natasha, on the pronounced bags under her green eyes, on the curve of her hips exaggerated by the skin tight suit, on the red of her lips, parted slightly and curled in to a smile. Maybe it’s just the relief that her team is back that gives her the confidence to grab the collar of Natasha’s tactical suit and yank Natasha’s lips towards hers, but when a gasp leaves the redheads mouth as their mouths come together, she knows its more than that. She knows it’s more when Natasha’s hand comes up to rest on her thigh and leaves a trail of fire on her skin behind it, she knows it’s more when she pulls Natasha down on top of her so their chests are pressed impossibly close together but she still doesn’t feel close enough. She knows it’s more, but she doesn’t want to admit it. 

All of a sudden, they’re right back where they were the previous night, all desperate kisses and gasping breaths. Wanda’s heart races as Natasha’s hand comes up from Wanda’s thigh to slip under her hoodie, wasting no time until it cups her breast. Wanda arches into the touch as Natasha squeezes her breast, before bringing her hand up to pinch at Wanda’s nipple, sparks exploding behind Wanda’s eyelids at the sensation. Her hands scramble to unzip Natasha’s tactical suit, helping the older woman out of it while simultaneously trying not to break the union of their lips. 

“Is this my hoodie?” Natasha breaks away to ask as she pulls her suit off of her feet, leaving her in just a black bra and underwear. Wanda doesn’t hear the question at first, gaze drawn downwards to the rise and fall of Natasha’s chest, to the muscular expanse of her abdomen. But her eyes snap up as it registers in her brain, meeting Natasha’s green irises and nodding. 

“Yes,” she says, not trying to cover up the fact at all. 

“Hmmm,” Natasha says, “cute.” 

Then she’s pulling it over her head and tossing it off the bed before pressing back down, mouth on Wanda’s neck and hands on Wanda’s hip. She pushes her leg into the apex of Wanda’s thigh, causing Wanda to squeak with pleasure and Natasha to laugh huskily into her neck. Natasha brings her head back up so she’s hovering over Wanda again, just an inch or two away. She presses with her thigh again and smiles as Wanda moans softly, hips pressing back into Natasha’s thigh to try to prolong the friction. 

“Do you want me to touch you, Wanda?” Natasha asks, her voice gravelly and Wanda tries to press her thighs together, feeling her pussy clench with the words from the redhead’s mouth. She nods but Natasha shakes her head. 

“I want to hear you say it,” Natasha says, pressing with her thigh again just to see Wanda’s eyes flutter and hear the moan that falls from her lips. 

“I want you to touch me, Nat, please,” Wanda whispers, practically squirming with desire as the words leave her mouth, but not being able to focus on much else other than the burning between her thighs and the way Natasha’s leg is rubbing at just the right angle. 

“Good girl,” Natasha says, her breath ghosting over Wanda’s neck causing the younger woman’s back to arch, shudders travelling down her spine and all the way to the tips of her toes. Natasha’s hand leaves her breast, creeping downward slowly until they’re toying with the waistband of her spandex. Wanda huffs in frustration, canting her hips upward and towards Natasha’s hand, but the redhead just pushes down with her own hips to stop Wanda’s movements, a smirk on her lips. 

“Impatient are we?” Natasha says, her hand not budging even as Wanda shudders at the husky tone of her words. Wanda almost moans, the combined effort of fighting every instinct she has to use her powers on Natasha and the building arousal in her cunt has her wound so tight she feels like she might explode. 

“Please, Nat,” Wanda can barely recognize her own voice, she’s practically begging Natasha to touch her at this point. Finally, _finally_ , she feels the redhead’s hand dip underneath her waistband, and then, a single finger is dragging deliciously through her folds, sending burning hot threads of arousals through her body. Natasha begins to circle her clit slowly and deliberately, every so softly dipping into Wanda’s opening periodically before going back up again. Wanda’s gripping Natasha so hard she’s sure she’s hurting her, afraid if she doesn’t hold on to the older woman she’ll fall apart from the unbearable amount of pleasure.

Without warning Natasha plunges two fingers inside her, causing a cry to fall from her lips and her grip to tighten impossibly. Her hips grind down on Natasha’s fingers as she fucks into her slowly, she’s begging and pleading, for what she doesn’t know. All she knows is she never wants Natasha to stop. She’s gasping for air, head pressed into Natasha’s neck as the other woman whispers filthy things into her ear. All she can do is nod and agree and whisper ‘don’t stop, please Nat, please don’t stop’ back at her, unaware if her words are even coherent. Natasha curls her fingers just so and she almost screams as an orgasm rips through her body, her pussy gushing over Natasha’s expert fingers as the rest of her body shudders and shakes with utter euphoria, words on her lips that she’s sure are going to ruin everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i guess i am really out here being an ass with the cliffhangers so hopefully this is alright. :)
> 
> ALSO my girlfriend has oh-so-helpfully pointed out that wanda's eyes are green in the comics, and i had been calling them hazel since lizzie's eyes look hazel to me, and now its bugging me so i'm going to correct it. ill prob go back and fix that up in the other chapters if it's mentioned/if i can remember. so thanks to my girlfriend for that, and also for reading this before any one else does so i can quickly fix all the typos i missed. love you babe :)
> 
> hope everyone is staying safe xx


	6. Chapter 6

Natasha lies awake long after the other occupant of her bed falls asleep, staring up at the pockmarked white of her ceiling and counting Wanda’s long, slow breaths from where she’s folded up beside her, so close, but not quite touching her. It feels like a sad kind of metaphor for her life, that everything she wants is close enough to touch, but never close enough to hold. To keep. Only ever long enough to feel the loss of what could have been. 

It had been so long since Natasha had felt anything akin to what was coursing through her body at the current moment that it almost felt foreign, made her want to jump out of her own skin and run. Away from Wanda and away from this feeling. She didn’t want to think about the way her chest got tight whenever Wanda would sigh softly every few minutes. The way she had looked curled up, so sweet and soft looking in the middle of Natasha’s bed when she got back from the mission (a research facility that had been evacuated and wiped clean before they had even left the state). The way Natasha felt something close to empathy when Wanda begged for release, something she normally didn’t connect to the act of sex. 

Feelings and sex. Two things normally separated by such a distance in the expanse of Natasha’s mind that the linkage between the two was something she had never bothered to consider. She knew that such things were possible, but she had perhaps ignorantly assumed that it was not a phenomenon she had the capacity to experience herself. It wasn’t through any fault of her own that she had spent her formative years being taught that sex was power. And pain. And punishment. A transaction that resulted in one of the two participatory parties gaining something they desired. 

The concept was so cemented in her subconscious that she saw no opportunity for anything different. 

Wanda’s sleep heavy arms stir, reaching out in the distance between their two bodies to twist her fingers into the fabric of Natasha’s shirt and sigh happily, a warm puff of air onto the bare skin of Natasha’s bicep. Natasha turns to look at the younger girl, at the innocent openness of her pale face, unencumbered by the marks of stress and worry that were normally painted over the features when she was awake. 

Her chest tightens almost uncomfortably and she clenches her hands into fists at her sides, looking away from Wanda to stare back up at the ceiling, tears tickling the backs of her eyes. Regret and uncertainty swirling in her chest and causing her to drag in a rattling breath, _what the fuck was going on?_ This was all wrong. Everything about this was backwards and stiflingly unfamiliar. She had spent her whole life making calculated decisions, always in control, never getting too emotionally involved but maintaining a small semblance of concern. _That_ was how _this_ was supposed to go. It wasn’t supposed to involve feelings or caring or anything remotely in that genre. It was supposed to be sex. Nothing more. _Why was it more?_ She closes her eyes, the answer to that particular question evading her as she slowly and fitfully drifts off to sleep. 

Natasha wakes with a start, hyperaware that somebody else is in her room and her eyes search wildly, frantically blinking away the exhaustion so she can see clearly. The image of Wanda perched on the end of her bed, folded up like a pretzel and gazing over at her materializes in a few seconds, and Natasha sits up immediately. 

“Good morning,” Wanda’s voice was so low and honeyed, Natasha noticed it every time she spoke. 

“Morning,” she responds, looking away from Wanda’s face for a few seconds to look out the window, at the sky that was more blue than orange. It must have been mid-morning at least, “what time is it?”

“It is just past ten,” Wanda says, “we missed training.” 

“No training after missions,” Natasha groans, falling back into her pillows and stretching her arms above her head. She feels unsure of how to act around Wanda, just like she’s unsure about this entire situation, not that Wanda could possibly know what she had been thinking about last night. Or could she? She wasn’t entirely positive about the extent of Wanda’s mind reading capabilities, but she wasn’t going to start asking questions now. 

“Are you hungry?” Natasha asks, sitting back up, and there’s a flash of something in Wanda’s eyes then, something red and dark. 

“Um, no. Not really,” Wanda doesn’t meet Natasha’s eyes. 

“Well we’re going to eat, let’s go,” Natasha sits up with no ceremony, walking definitively towards her bedroom door and leaving it open behind her. She can hear a soft groan before scuttling footfalls and then Wanda is there, traipsing just a couple steps behind her into the (thankfully) empty kitchen. 

“Where is everyone?” Natasha turns to look back at Wanda and waits for the girl to scan the floor, her eyes far off and focused. 

“Sleeping.” Wanda confirms, hopping up on a kitchen stool and pushing it in a full circle, catching herself on the counter as she comes back around and smiling gleefully at Natasha. “Just us,” she proclaims happily. 

Natasha hums contentedly at that, ambling over to the electric kettle and clicking it on before reaching up into cupboard for the coffee, and the container of Wanda’s tea bags right next to it. She goes back over to the counter after she gets their mugs ready and leans her body down on it, clasping her fingers together. 

“What would you like to eat?” She takes a second to look at Wanda, realizing then that she hadn’t done so yet this morning, and her mouth goes dry. She’s wearing one of Natasha’s tank tops, her breasts straining the fabric at the front of the shirt, and what looks to be a pair of Natasha’s spandex as well. She’s about to say something teasing about Wanda not having any of her own clothes, but then she realizes that she doesn’t really mind at all, and that thought bugs her even more. 

“I am not hungry,” Wanda states again, sitting up straighter and conveniently pushing her breasts up even more, like she knows Natasha had been staring. 

“Come on Wanda, don’t be difficult,” Natasha sighs, standing up and crossing her arms across her chest, reveling in the way Wanda’s eyes snap down to look at the front of her top. Yeah, two can play at this game. 

“I am not being difficult. I am just not hungry,” Wanda huffs. 

“Well you’re gonna eat,” Natasha turns to the cupboard then, perusing her options. Wanda must have gone shopping while they were out yesterday. 

“No I won’t,” Wanda says it with such conviction it almost makes Natasha bark out a laugh. She moves the cupboard out of her line of sight to fix Wanda with a stare. 

“You and I both know you like doing what I tell you so you really don’t have to bother with that.” 

Wanda chokes on a gasp and her face flushes, looking down at the counter. Natasha smirks with the victory and picks out a box of quick oats from the cabinet, getting to work and letting the tense silence stretch out between them. 

They eat across from each other at the counter, Natasha standing and leaning over her bowl like she’s in a rush and Wanda folded up on her stool. Wanda asks a few questions about the mission, easy ones that Natasha can answer with one word, but then they’re both quiet. Spooning the thick, sugary oats into their mouths and listening to the compound slowly come awake. Steve is the first one to wander out of his room and sit down next to Wanda at the counter, smiling sweetly at Natasha when she hands him a bowl of oats but saying nothing. Another cold lead on Bucky normally warranted a quieter than usual Steve, at least for a few days. Sam and Clint lumber out of their rooms soon after and they bring conversation with them, Natasha doesn’t know whether to be grateful or upset that they’ve interrupted her alone time with Wanda; she joins in the chatter either way. 

The next few days are startlingly uneventful. Tony seems to have taken Pepper somewhere as a half-hearted apology attempt for her birthday, so Vision is tasked to hang around Stark Tower. Clint is seldom at the compound to begin with, unless it’s after a mission, so it’s quiet around the building for the most part. Natasha likes the quiet, but she’s hyper aware it never lasts. She resolves to enjoy the calm as long as it stays. 

It takes a while for Natasha to realize that Wanda must be avoiding her. She doesn’t say much during training (can’t really say much with Steve hovering), and she doesn’t show her face in the common area either. It’s the fourth day after getting back from the mission and Wanda had scurried out of the gym so fast that morning Natasha hadn’t even seen her leave. She’s caught up in her thoughts so deeply that she doesn’t notice Wanda is absent from the dinner table that night until she’s sat down next to Steve. 

“Where’s Wanda?” She questions, Steve shakes his head noncommittally before Sam pipes up from across the table around a forkful of pasta. 

“I saw her leave like an hour ago, said sumthin’ about going for a walk or a bookstore or something like that,” he shrugs, not bothering to look up at Natasha as he speaks, shoving another bite of his dinner into his mouth. 

She rakes a hand through her hair and tosses it frustratedly off of her face, silently stewing at her fellow team members’ lack of care for Wanda’s behaviour. But then, why did she care? When did _she_ start caring about where Wanda was? She eats the rest of her meal in silence and stalks to her room afterwards, dually irritated and confused but not able to decipher the reason. She comes to her door and reaches forward to grab the doorknob but she stops, rips her hand away and twists on her heel to continue down the hallway to Wanda’s room. The room is dark when she enters, it had probably still been light out when Wanda left, so she clicks on the lamp by Wanda’s bed. She traces a finger over the top of Wanda’s dresser as she walks alongside it, coming upon her small bookshelf and leaning down next to it, analyzing her options. She picks out something familiar that she must have read as a teenager before climbing onto Wanda’s bed and settling down into the plush of the pillows to wait. 

She’s still waiting when the door clicks open a few minutes later and Wanda bustles in with a cloth bag of books slung over her arm and her cheeks pink from the outside air. It takes a few seconds for her to notice Natasha perched on her bed, and when she does, her eyes widen and she gasps. 

“Geez Natasha, you scared me.” One of her hands flies to her chest as she slowly steps forward, like she’s scared Natasha is going to jump at her. 

“Sorry darling, just wanted to wait for you here,” Natasha says, closing the book she’s holding and placing it on her lap, smiling slightly at the way Wanda’s cheeks flush to a deeper red at her words.. 

“Yeah, sure,” she says, clearly flustered but trying not to show it. She stares at Natasha for a few seconds before she seems to find her bearings, realizing the armful of books she’s carrying and the thin jacket she has on. Natasha watches, content, as Wanda putters around her own space; peeling the jacket off and hanging it on the back of the door and dumping the bag of books just inside her closet. She turns slowly back towards Natasha and climbs up onto her bed, sitting down across from her and looking up expectantly. 

“What are you doing here?” Wanda asks again, looking searchingly into Natasha’s eyes. A shock of fear rolls through Natasha’s stomach at the observant gaze Wanda s fixing her with, like she could read every emotion and thought Natasha has ever had with one touch of her red energy to Natasha’s forehead. She swallows the emotion and forces her response to come out casual. 

“I told you, none of the boys could tell me where you were so I thought I’d just wait for you in here,” Natasha says, but Wanda looks away and shakes her head slightly. 

“What? You think I’m lying?” Natasha scoffs, and Wanda looks back at her, green eyes piercing. 

“I can always tell when you’re lying,” the younger girl says, an heir of arrogance threaded through the words and Natasha’s heart starts beating a little faster, she curses herself for how _vulnerable_ she feels around this girl. And how much it scares her. 

“Fine, I wanted to talk to you then. Is that the truth?” Natasha teases, waggling her eyebrows in challenge at Wanda to call her bluff, but she just laughs and nods her head. 

“Yes,” Wanda answers teasingly, and then she seems to register Natasha’s words, and her eyes narrow slightly; looking wary. “What did you want to talk to me about?” 

“Dunno, just wanted to check up on you I guess,” Natasha says, not really lying but not really telling the truth either, falling back into Wanda’s pillows so she doesn’t have to look at the girl anymore, so she can ignore the fluttering in her chest a little better. “Where were you at dinner?” 

“Ugh, dinner,” Wanda says dreamily, then she’s getting up from the bed and rifling in her side table before hopping back up again. Natasha drags her gaze away from the ceiling to look at what Wanda’s holding and chokes on a laugh when she spies a massive bag of chocolate. 

“Have you eaten at all today?” Natasha groans, rolling over on her side and propping her head up on her hand, fixing Wanda with a stare that she hopes conveys only anger and hides the real and genuine concern she holds for the younger woman. Wanda’s eyes widen and she slowly shakes her head, looking ashamedly down into the bag on her lap. 

“Um, no, I guess that I haven’t,” Wanda says, shrugging her shoulders slightly and popping a handful of the candy into her mouth, sighing in contentment when it hits her tongue. Natasha watches, amused, for a second before she back-pedals. 

“You never answered my question,” she prods, raising her eyebrows. 

“Where was I?” Wanda asks, tilting her head to the side. 

“Yes,” Natasha says. 

“I uh, just went for a walk,” Wanda says, nodding affirmatively at the end of the sentence like that’s all the information that Natasha needs. 

“How come?” Natasha isn’t about to let her get away with an answer like that. 

“I go for walks all the time. Don’t you, as well?” Wanda looks annoyed now, not genuinely, but slightly like Natasha is a teacher asking her a question she skipped on the homework. 

“Don’t turn this around on me,” Natasha scolds, holding her hand out until Wanda places a few squares of chocolate in it. 

“I guess I just wanted to think,” Wanda relents, her voice tipping up at the end of the sentence like it’s a question. 

“About?” Natasha asks around a mouthful of the candy. 

Wanda groans, looking properly irritated now and she takes a few seconds to answer, like she’s gauging how honest she’s about to be. It’s almost funny how clueless she seems to be about Natasha’s observation skills, how Natasha’s quite possibly the second-best in the house at reading minds and behaviour and acting accordingly. Just after the girl across from her, who displays how she’s feeling like an open book in front of Natasha, like maybe she _wants_ to be read, to be understood. It makes Natasha’s heart ache. 

“I guess you, Steve. All your expectations. And my brother and home and how everything is so scary all the time but also better…than before,” she tilts her head from side to side when she’s talking, low and even, “but maybe I am always thinking of these things. I am always thinking way too much.” 

“You should stop then,” Natasha says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Of course you would say that,” Wanda laughs, and Natasha looks up to meet her eyes. 

“And what do you mean by that exactly?” She watches as Wanda’s mouth gapes open and then closes like a fish. She seems to choose her next words carefully. 

“I just mean you are very impulsive. You act out, with emotion. You never overthink. You never think at all, you just do.” 

Natasha is struck dumb with the vulnerability she feels at Wanda’s words, like she’s just been stripped naked in the room and everything that she’s ever felt or done is bare to the girl. 

“I think you’re right, little witch,” Natasha says, because she doesn’t know how else to cope with how powerful and brilliant and amazing Wanda continues to reveal herself to be. Vision’s words ring in her ears: _I think she’s a lot more powerful than we all give her credit for_ , and it creates the strangest dichotomy of fear and comfort inside of her. Comfort because Wanda is on _their_ side and wouldn’t be using the red energy thrumming beneath her skin for anything evil, as far as Natasha could tell. But fear, so much fear, in the way Wanda could so easily tear her open and see her for who she truly was. That terrifying thought was so deeply rooted in Natasha’s psyche it felt backwards to be so close to someone who had the ability to unveil it all, who had the power to show everyone what she had done, and what she feared she may still be capable of. It was breathtaking and exhilarating and _horrifying_. 

“Are you okay?” Wanda’s words cut into Natasha’s train of thought, sending the fears scattering; to be picked up and dusted off later, examined for validity when she had the wherewithal to do so. 

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” Natasha questions back, looking over at Wanda so can catch the younger girl’s eye and wink. That’s when she notices a tiny smudge of chocolate on the corner of Wanda’s mouth and she has to bite her lip to keep from giggling. 

“You’ve got chocolate on your face, hun,” she says, sitting up slightly and gesturing for Wanda to scoot closer, holding out her hand. Wanda’s face flushes and she tries to wave Natasha off, looking behind her so she can back up but realizing there’s nowhere to escape to except off of the bed. 

“Just c’mere,” Natasha urges, trying not to laugh at the hot flush of red colouring Wanda’s cheeks. She snatches the girl’s arm and tugs her forward, sticking the thumb of her other hand into her mouth for a brief second and touching it to the spot of chocolate on the younger girl’s mouth. Wanda pouts like a child just as Natasha realizes how close their faces are, and the pull in her gut as a result. She takes her sweet time wiping off the chocolate before moving her thumb closer to the plush middle of Wanda’s cheeks, tracing the skin softly with her thumb. Wanda draws in a breath when she notices what Natasha’s doing, her eyes fluttering closed and her face inching slowly closer to Natasha’s. 

There’s a desire deep in the core of Natasha’s soul to turn off her mind and check out at this moment, to put even more distance between the concepts of sex and emotion than there already were in her improperly wired brain. To give Wanda what she needed and then promptly slip off into the night and ignore the strange, conflicting feelings that occupied her headspace when she was around the younger girl (or even thought about her for that matter.) But Wanda’s eyes blink open, ensnaring Natasha’s with their ocean-clear hue and they’re filled with such unfathomable adoration and wonder that Natasha fears her heart might break right then and there. Natasha’s breath catches in her throat and she surrenders, letting the feelings fill her in all their confusingly warm glory, and she pushes her thumb into Wanda’s mouth softly, just barely stopping the moan from leaving her mouth at the feeling of the wetness of the girl’s tongue. Wanda’s eyes snap closed and she draws in Natasha’s thumb deeper with her lips, hot air from her nose huffing out onto Natasha’s hand as she sucks slowly, desperately. Natasha watches in awe for a few seconds, mouth gaping open at the image in front of her. Heat rolls up from her core to her chest, the area between her thighs practically throbbing at the feeling of Wanda’s suckling mouth. 

Natasha draws her thumb back and it pops out of Wanda’s mouth, she traces Wanda’s lips again with her thumb, smearing Wanda’s spit all over the soft surface before she grabs Wanda by the shirt and pulls her on top of her. 

Their lips meet feverishly, panting mouths trading hot breaths as they come together again and again. Natasha can’t seem to get Wanda close enough, she tugs at her clothes and pulls at her body until she can’t decipher where her body stops and Wanda’s begins. Wanda is gasping, rocking against Natasha’s body with soft cries of need, gripping Natasha’s hair with tight, trembling fingers. Natasha is overcome with such unbridled, pure need to touch Wanda where she needs that it knocks the breath out of her, her chest racketing with the intensity of the emotions coursing through her, her brain swimming in arousal. She catches herself for a second, the fear of vulnerability raging in the corner of her mind, telling her to take control of the situation before she reveals too much. 

She pulls back slightly from Wanda, and worms her hand between their bodies to grasp at the girl’s throat, gently but with enough pressure for Wanda to gasp a heavy breath, Natasha smiles and pushes Wanda’s head back so she can meet her eyes properly. 

“Tell me what you want,” she says, surprising herself with how gravelly her voice sounds. Wanda whimpers and grinds her hips downwards, trying to create friction from where her centre is resting on Natasha’s hip. Natasha bites her lip and shakes her head, squeezing tighter with the hand that’s grasping Wanda’s throat and taking her other hand and forcing it in between where their bodies meet, preventing Wanda from partaking in her desperate actions. 

“Use your words, Wanda,” she scolds and Wanda whimpers again, Natasha can see her hands hanging down by her sides clenching into fists, red sparks tickling the surface of her fingers. 

“Please, Nat,” Wanda squeaks out, her voice high and needy. Natasha pulls Wanda’s face closer to her so she can breathe her next words directly into Wanda’s panting mouth. 

“Please what?” 

“Please fuck me Nat, please,” Wanda begs, her whole body trembles with the words. Natasha releases the grip she has on Wanda’s throat and she slithers the hand behind Wanda’s neck, gripping the hair at the base of it and bringing her face forward so she can kiss Wanda, licking into her mouth as the younger woman sighs with relief. 

“Good girl,” she whispers, and she’s inside Wanda the next second, pushing upwards with two fingers and Wanda practically screams on top of her, immediately gripping the fabric of Natasha’s shirt with tight, shaking fists. 

Wanda cries softly at each thrust of Natasha’s fingers, her wetness dripping out of her and into Natasha’s palm, coating her entire hand with Wanda’s arousal. Natasha rubs the heel of her hand into Wanda’s clit and Wanda gasps, her hips rolling and gyrating with no apparent rhythm. Her walls start tightening around Natasha’s fingers and she starts breathing faster, her cries getting sharper. Natasha clutches the hair at her nape again and brings her head up in front of her. Wanda blinks her eyes open, they’re dazed and far off but they flutter desperately as if trying to bring Natasha into focus. 

“I’m gonna-“ Wanda pants out and Natasha smiles, increasing the pace of her thrusts, scraping the pads of her fingers against the raised surface of Wanda’s g-spot. 

“You gonna come for me Wanda?” She asks, her voice sickly sweet as Wanda nods frantically, her eyes screwing shut and her entire body tightening, stilling, the walls of her pussy pulsing around Natasha’s fingers. 

“Fuck,” she chokes out, and she slowly grinds herself down onto Natasha’s hand once, twice, three times and then she collapses, catching herself with her hands on either side of Natasha’s head. Natasha slowly pulls out of her and Wanda whimpers softly, her whole body relaxing on top of Natasha’s, her heart rate slowly evening out, her breathing gradually going back to normal. It’s several minutes before one of them speaks. 

“Are you going to stay here?” Wanda asks, the words quiet and spoken into the skin of Natasha’s neck. 

“Do you want me to?” Natasha asks and Wanda doesn’t say anything, just slowly moves off of her and lays down on her side beside her. 

“If you want to,” Wanda says, her eyes open and soft. 

“Okay,” Natasha says, and she turns on her side to face Wanda, holding her gaze. Wanda smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes, and she watches Natasha with an air of apprehension for a few seconds before she blinks and finally, flutters her eyes closed. Natasha watches her fall asleep for a few minutes, before she reaches over and turns the lamp off, the room now bathed in the moonlight filtering in through the windows. She turns back to look at Wanda and her breath catches. It hits her like a wave, the amount of adoration and affection that she feels for the girl next to her, and it makes her chest twist with fear. She’s paralyzed with it all of a sudden, panic seizing her in its icy, debilitating grip. 

_What are you doing?_ Her mind screams at her, and tears began to prickle at her eyes, she bites her lip to keep herself from gasping out loud and possibly waking up Wanda. 

_Wanda._

Everything comes crashing down on her. Every horrible thing she’s ever done (every awful thing she’s capable of) playing like a movie across her mind. One she can’t she turn off. Everyone she’s hurt. Everyone she’s killed. All the pain she’s ever caused laid out in front of her; screaming. _How could you do this?_

How can she do what she was about to do to Wanda? How can she think that she would ever be able to do something like this without anyone getting hurt. Doesn’t she see what Wanda thinks of her? Does she care? 

“Of course I do,” she whispers, and she bites her lip again, hard. They’re battling silently inside her: who she wants to be and who she is, and she knows which one will win. Which one always wins. But she doesn’t bother waiting to find out. 

She gets up from the bed quietly, walking slowly out of Wanda’s room, closing the door as gently as she can. 

She doesn’t even make it to her room before tears start rolling down her cheeks and she unwillingly succumbs to the panic attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have absolutely no explanation for the length of time it took me to write this. i _did_ go back to work (which has been awful) but i also quit my job so yay!  
> i hope you guys like this chapter and that you're all staying safe!!! 
> 
> also, i have absolutely no idea how to use tumblr (shoutout to my gf for her helpful lessons for a certified former straight soccer kid) and if anyone is interested it is [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/kenscarquin) (or just search kenscarquin.) i would love to talk to y'all :)


	7. Chapter 7

Wanda knows the bed is empty before she opens her eyes. She can feel her absence in the stillness of the air in her bedroom, the lack of movement, of warmth. 

Despite the fact that her powers are still so new and foreign to her, there are aspects of them that she covets. That she explores without fear or hesitation. One of those aspects being the way she can feel people. Can feel their emotions and their character as easy as she can see their eye colour or hear their voice. The presence of the people around her are painted bright, in colour, crystal clear in her mind. 

Steve is warm, sunshine. The smell of baking in the oven. Tony is cold but bright, explosions of bright yellow on a dark, starless sky. Vision is calm and red. A dark room in the evening that you haven’t explored, but that you know is safe. 

Natasha is her favourite. 

Natasha is a juxtaposition in every definition of the word. Dark and light. Sweet but bitter. Chaotic and yet organized, calculated. A storm that booms and thunders against the windows but underneath: the calm, serene energy that a spring morning brings along with it. It shouldn’t make sense, but it does. Because it’s Natasha. It’s smoky, vanilla hoodies and blood stained clothing and a bitingly sweet sarcasm that leaves the taste of honey on your tongue. 

It hurts how fast Wanda fell in love with it all. 

The thrum of anxiety just beneath Wanda’s skin urges her to sit up. To gather the blankets that still smell like Natasha around herself and breathe in deep. Slow. She doesn’t realize the tears are coming until they’re dripping like molasses off the sharp edge of her jawline. 

She wonders if the universe will ever run out of things to break her heart with.

She peers through her tears at her nightstand and blinks the wetness away so that she can read the time; 4:56. She hops out of her bed, pulling the sleeves of her hoodie over her hands as she pads softly down the hallway towards the kitchen. She brews her tea in a daze, checking the rooms of her housemates every few seconds, obsessively, to make sure that she won’t be bothered. She stares at the open fridge with glazed eyes before grabbing a yogurt, and then a spoon from the drawer, making sure to shut everything as quietly as she possibly can. She doesn’t even let her tea finish brewing before she gathers it up and begins walking back to her room, her footsteps soft and slow. 

She’s exhausted after the miniscule victory and she collapses into her bed after placing her breakfast on her nightstand.

She wouldn’t be leaving her room for the foreseeable future. 

It’s sometime between midday and evening when she’s finally disturbed. She hadn’t been paying attention to the time, had been busy with keeping tabs on Natasha through the walls, her energy reaching towards the woman from the safe cocoon of her room. She’d been blanketing Natasha’s room with her watchful eyes, blissfully distracted, when someone’s presence makes itself known on the other side of her bedroom door.

“Wanda?” It’s Steve. She gets up and opens the door for him, he’s dressed in his tactical pants and a black t-shirt. Her heart drops through the floor.

“Are you guys leaving?” Her voice sounds like a child’s, disappointed at the news that their mother must leave them behind to go to work.

“Um, not right now,” he says noncommittally, “can I talk to you?” 

Wanda shifts from foot to foot anxiously, she wasn’t necessarily interested in having a heart to heart with the captain at the moment. Had planned on stewing in her own self-loathing for the rest of the evening. 

“Sure,” she says, opening the door to let him step in to her room, looking behind her in disdain at its current state of disarray, but resolving that there were probably more important things to worry about. 

He sits gingerly down on the edge of her bed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his legs and he gestures for Wanda to sit next to him. She folds herself down beside him, facing more towards the window than she was facing him. 

“How are you doing?” Steve asks, and Wanda immediately bristles. 

“I am fine,” her answer is clipped. 

“Can you look at me?” his voice is pleading, and she turns slowly and painfully to face him. Her hands are twisted up in her lap and her eyes are down. 

“How are you doing? Honestly.” 

“I told you. I am fine,” she looks up at him for a split second and wishes she hadn’t. His ocean blue eyes are gazing at her with so much care it makes her heart heavy. 

“Look, I know you normally talk to Nat about this stuff but I want you to know I’m here for you too,” Steve’s hand twitches like he wants to touch her but thinks better of it. “We all care about you a lot Wanda, and we want you to feel safe here.” 

“I do,” she protests, “I just-“ 

She looks over her shoulder out the window. At the world that she could harm so easily with something she doesn’t understand. Something she can’t control. 

“I just like to be alone,” she turns back to meet his eyes, “sometimes.” 

“Look, I get that,” Steve says, sitting up straighter, “and that’s totally fine. But I just want you to know that I’m here for you. So is Nat and Clint and Vision and everyone else. You don’t have to hide in your room when you’re feeling sad or scared, okay?” 

Wanda nods, biting her lip at the utter terror that floods her body at the thought of any of them seeing her any more vulnerable than they already have. 

“Okay,” she agrees. 

“Okay,” Steve says. He claps his hands together and looks around her room, like he’s trying to think of the right words for what he’s about to say. “Well, we’re leaving for a mission in an hour. And you’re coming.” 

Wanda hadn’t been on the Quinjet many times, and she’d certainly never been on the Quinjet with the promise of _actually doing something_ on the other end of the ride. It’s different, the tension crackling through the space so thick she can almost see it. She has her hands shoved between her thighs and the cool metal seat beneath her so nobody sees the red flickering off her fingers. 

They’d been briefed at the compound. It was a mission as low-risk as it could get. Tony had caught a strange energy signature coming off some remote, abandoned warehouses somewhere in Poland; but they were consistent with some of the previous Hydra bases. He’d done a preliminary search and it was empty, but he wanted Nat and Steve to make sure there was no information or weapons being stored. 

Wanda feels like a kid tagging along with her parents on an errand because they couldn’t find a sitter. Sam, Steve and Nat are crowded behind the control panel of the jet where Clint sat with his hands on the wheel, all speaking in hushed voices. Wanda can hear them if she tries, of course, but she doesn’t really feel like bothering. This was pretty much how it normally played out on the missions she was allowed to partake in. She’d be allowed to run a perimeter sweep with Steve or Sam and then she would wait at the Quinjet and call out anything unusual that she saw. Never allowed to really get involved. Never allowed to use her powers. She wasn’t really sure if she wanted this time to be different or not. 

She tries not to look at Natasha, tries to focus on other things. Like the nerves churning in her gut, and the anxiety slowly pooling in her limbs, making her skin buzz. 

Steve hunkers down next to her a few minutes later, elbows on his knees, a calm presence in the centre of the swirling panic. 

“How are you?” 

It’s the third time he’s asked her that today. 

“I am good,” she lies through her teeth, her hands clenching uncomfortably into fists underneath her thighs, knuckles digging sharply into the metal.

“We’ll be there soon,” he clears his throat and rubs his palms together, “you’re going to be covering me when we get down there. Sam’s going to cover Nat and Clint. We’re just doing a sweep so I don’t want to see you using your powers.”

Wanda whips her head over to meet Steve’s gaze, annoyance inspiring the slew of choice words that threaten to tumble out of her pursed lips, but she bites her tongue at the sincere look on his face. 

“It’s just for our protection Wanda,” Steve says softly. She feels tiny, helpless. 

“I know,” it’s hard to get the words out with how tightly she has her jaw clenched against the rising urge to argue with the captain. _Were they ever going to trust her?_

Steve settles back into his seat as the Quinjet begins to descend, Wanda’s stomach turns and she glances up, hoping to find something to focus on so she wouldn’t throw up. Natasha is sitting directly across from her, emerald green irises boring into her own, a conflicted expression playing across her face. She looks away immediately, folding her arms across her chest and leaning back, away from Wanda’s searching eyes. Wanda swallows thickly and looks down at the ground, feeling overwhelmed and isolated at the same time and wishing she was anywhere else. 

They land less than five minutes later, and Wanda follows the senior Avengers out of the Quinjet, following a few paces behind Steve, arms straight down at her side, fists clenched and wondering how she was supposed to help with anything. 

The building was larger than Wanda had expected, certainly run down and looking like it hadn’t been inhabited in at least a decade. The walls were covered in grime and dust, and there were overgrown plants climbing up the stone walls of the structure, and growing into the smashed windows and open doorways. It was easy to see that it used to be a warehouse, and Wanda suspected there was a lot more to it than met the eye. Wanda adjusted the comm in her ear as Steve started talking, barking out orders. 

“Me and Wanda will a run a perimeter sweep, you guys head in and let us know what you find.” 

Sam, Clint and Nat all nod and set off at an easy jog towards the building just as Steve takes off to the right, gesturing for Wanda to follow. The building is much deeper than it appears, and it takes the two of them almost a full three minutes to circle the whole thing, Wanda scanning the trees surrounding the space for any signs of life or movement. 

“There’s nothing on the main level Steve, but we’re heading down to the basement now,” Clint’s voice comes crackling into Wanda’s ear as they come back to the clearing at the front of the warehouse. Steve gestures for Wanda to stand next to him, facing opposite him as they wait. 

“Steve, there’s a lot of tech down here. Everything looks wiped but it’s going to take me a few minutes to double check, there’s multiple servers,” Natasha sounds worried, her voice tense. Steve seems to notice; Wanda can sense uneasiness coming off the man as he responds to Natasha in the affirmative. 

Wanda’s stomach dips and twists with nerves as the minutes stretch on, the silence from around them seemed charged, like something that they can’t see was waiting for a moment to attack. She paces back and forth as she stretches her senses as far as they can go, bouncing between the people inside the building and the forest, trying to keep tabs on both at once. 

Wind rustles the trees around them, whistling through the air and sending the strands of Wanda’s hair flying. The only other sounds are the crunch of gravel beneath her and Steve’s feet as they pace, and maybe the beating of Wanda’s heart, thumping uncomfortably loud in her chest. 

A strange voice came through her ear then, one she didn’t expect to hear. 

“Rogers you’ve got incoming, one, maybe two minutes. I can’t tell how many I didn’t see them approach,” it was Tony. 

Shit. 

“Wanda get behind me. Nat, get out of there,” Steve barks, reaching behind his back to grab his shield and bring it in front of him in one smooth motion. 

“I’m almost done,” Nat argues.

“Now,” Steve’s jaw is set, the muscles in his arms rippling. 

Wanda can feel it now. The approaching sense of danger. The back of her neck tingles and she can feel the hairs there standing straight up, a chill rushes down her spine and she bounces on the balls of her feet. 

“Steve,” she pleads but he shakes his head definitively. 

“It’s not safe, Wanda. Just stay behind me.” 

A humming sound from just over the top of the building cuts into the tense silence of the clearing, growing loud fast. 

“Romanoff,” Steve’s voice is even, but Wanda can feel the anxiety coming off of him in waves.

“One. Second.” 

The humming increases in volume, making the trees around them vibrate and sway, and then they appear. A half dozen or so black flying machines. They look almost like the Quinjet but boxier, and smaller. They soar slowly over the top of the building, the buzzing sound they’re emitting becoming deafening. 

The two on the left explode into a fiery orange blaze just as Wanda senses that her and Steve aren’t alone in the clearing, and she breathes a sigh of relief as the machines go crashing down on to the roof of the building. Clint comes racing in front of them, bow drawn, arms trembling. 

Sam zips by them, targeting the three rightmost jets with his bullets, and they crash to the ground in quick succession. Not before a dozen figures drop down from the middle of the pack, hitting the ground in a cloud of dust. 

Natasha races in to their little group, sliding herself in between Wanda and Steve, pulling her guns out of their holsters as she does so. 

“Sam, Clint, stay with Nat. Cover her up top. Wanda, stay with me.” 

It all turns into a catastrophic blur after that. Wanda hovers behind Steve as he heads into the crowd of men who turn out not to be the biggest threat to the world’s greatest heroes as it turns out. Wanda takes out one or two of the guys on pure luck alone, Natasha’s sparring instructions echoing in her ears as Steve steamrolls ahead of her. 

Wanda chances a look over as Natasha when she realizes that Steve has almost finished the group they’d converged on. 

It all happens in slow motion. 

It looks like twenty men, but in hindsight, it’s probably barely a dozen; the number having been multiplied by the adrenaline coursing through Wanda’s anxiety-ridden body. 

They’re closing in on Natasha. Clint is too far away from her, eyes focused on one of the few still-flying jets. The same one that Sam is also flying behind. They’ve almost got it down, Wanda can hear the sputtering of its failing engine.

Natasha is preoccupied with her own group of enemy men, twisting and turning her way out of their clutches, shooting off round after round. She isn’t going to notice them. She doesn’t notice them. 

Wanda is screaming at her, pointing and gesturing to Sam and Clint but they don’t see her. Or if they do, they’re too busy with their own current endeavour to abandon it. 

They’re only a few feet away now, dust kicking up where their feet hit the ground. Running towards Natasha who has her back turned.

Wanda doesn’t really think after that. Doesn’t consider the weight of what she’s about to do. She just clenches her fists and lets the energy fill her up. She lets it flood her limbs all the way to her fingertips in the most delicious, _dangerous_ sensation of completeness and rages in a blur of crimson over to the woman she loves. 

They don’t see it coming. 

Wanda lifts them into the air, all of them, suspended in a rash of red energy, mouths gaping open in silent screams. She slams their bodies down into the earth with as much force as she can possibly muster; she revels in the multiple cracks she hears at the impact. 

She hears yells and screams, one louder than the rest. All screaming her name. And then pain, a lot of pain all at once, ripping through her torso. 

And then nothing. Inky blackness claws its way in and drags her down. She smells gunpowder and vanilla and marvels at the fact that heaven smells like Natasha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll try to get the next chapter up soon so you don't have to deal with this cliffhanger for long!  
> thanks for all the love on the previous chapters!!  
> if you want to chat w me on tumblr it's [here!](https://kenscarquin.tumblr.com/) (or just search kenscarquin)  
> love y'all stay safe xx


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year :)

Natasha catches her just before her body hits the ground. 

She smells the blood before she sees it. But then she’s ripping Wanda’s tactical suit off of her torso to get to the wound underneath, pulling the thick fabric apart and revealing a huge splotch of red just beneath Wanda’s rib cage on the left of her body. She can feel Steve behind her. 

“Just a graze,” she says to him, not looking back. 

Her gaze flits up to Wanda’s face, smooth and unmoving as marble. There’s a large crash from behind them, and she can feel the subtle, rolling heat of fire. 

“Is she okay?” It’s Clint’s voice through her comm, out of breath and thick with emotion. 

Nat doesn’t respond, is staring intently at Wanda’s face, her hands pressed tightly to the sticky surface of the girl’s torso.

“Nat says it’s just a graze,” Steve says, his familiar baritone calms Natasha as the world rages around them. He crouches down next to her and she flinches when he moves her hands off of Wanda’s body. 

“I’ll take her, we’ve got to get her to the Quinjet,” he doesn’t wait for Natasha’s answer, just scoops Wanda up like she weighs nothing and starts running towards the jet.   
The Quinjet rocks back and forth beneath Natasha’s feet as they lift off, something that normally makes her stomach turn, but she’s so focused on Wanda’s unmoving form that she hardly notices. The rest of the team is spread out around her, after Natasha and Steve had rushed to the Quinjet with Wanda they had handled the last of the assholes who had ambushed them. It probably wasn’t too far off to assume Hydra, but she pushed the thought to the back of her mind. The local law enforcement and S.H.I.E.L.D had arrived just as Clint pulled them up into takeoff. 

“Why isn’t she waking up?” The question makes Natasha’s hackles rise, despite the innocence in Sam’s tone. She glares over her shoulder at the man in question and he shoots a quizzical look back at her. 

“The real question is why didn’t we know that was an ambush,” she spits the words out like they’re made of venom before she turns back to Wanda. 

“That’s my fault,” its Tony’s voice crackling through the comm system of the jet, “I could only bounce navigation off of the Quinjet’s system.” 

Natasha isn’t interested in the particulars. 

“She’s going to be fine, Nat,” Clint calls back to her from his seat at the jet’s control panel, “you said it yourself, it’s just a graze.” 

“She shouldn’t have been shot in the first place,” Natasha argues, “I knew those guys were behind me.” 

“You can’t blame her for protecting you,” Steve says, “it’s my fault for not letting her use her powers. She must be out of practice.”

“She has been pretty depressed lately. Maybe she’s got a death wish,” Sam says, almost instantly balking at the glare Natasha fixes him with. He scuttles backwards a few steps and holds his hands up in apology. 

“He’s not wrong Nat, you should’ve seen her before we left. I tried to talk to her, but she barely looked at me,” Steve’s sitting across from Natasha, leaning forward, looking at her sympathetically. 

“You need to talk to her,” Clint chimes in. “She’s gonna get herself killed.”

“Why is she my responsibility?” Natasha asks the room, looking from face to face. Steve and Sam share a look before Sam shakes his head and laughs. 

“Shit Nat, you’re pretty dense for a spy.” 

“Sam, I swear to god- “

“Nat.” Steve catches her before she can rip into the falcon and she drags her gaze to meet his. “You must know what’s going on with her.”

“What I know about Wanda is none of your guys’ business,” Natasha protests, “and I also think you’re over-estimating me a bit here. Just because we talk doesn’t mean she trusts me.” 

“She’s a whole lot closer to trusting you than any one of us,” Steve argues back, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms across his chest. 

Wanda begins to stir then, her face screwing up in displeasure, and she moves her hands to where Natasha has a wad of gauze pressed against the gunshot wound. She gets frustrated when she finds Natasha’s hands blocking the path of her searching fingers, huffing in annoyance. 

“Morning sweetheart,” Sam calls from across the Quinjet; Wanda’s eyes blink open confusedly in response. 

“What happened?” Her voice is raspier than Natasha’s ever heard it. 

“You got shot hun,” Natasha says softly, trying to catch Wanda’s gaze to gauge how sharp her thoughts might be. She finds crystal clear emerald staring back at her, hazy around the edges but mostly present. 

“Did anyone-,” she swallows, a dry click in the quiet room, “did I hurt anyone?” 

“Only the people who deserved it kid,” Clint calls from the front and visible relief floods the witch’s face. She falls back down against the metal seat, huffing a deep breath and closing her eyes.

Wanda is skirted off with Helen Cho and two other nurse-looking people as soon as they step off the jet, nodding at Natasha’s vague assessment of the wound but mostly ignoring her, pushing her hands off from where they’re clutching proprietarily at Wanda’s hips and dragging her away. She stands unsurely at the entrance to the compound, not certain whether its appropriate for her to do what she wants to do, which is to follow the nurses and Wanda all the way to the medical wing and keep her eye on the young witch. 

She turns instead towards the elevators to get to her room. She tries to ignore the anxiety that buzzes louder and louder beneath her skin the farther she gets away from Wanda.

She undresses and showers quickly, pulls on the first clothes she finds when she opens her closet and speed walks out of her room and down the hall. 

When she gets to the medical wing, she doesn’t have to look far to find Wanda, there’s about five nurses puttering around her and Natasha can hear the young Sokovian protesting their actions softly.

“Are you being difficult?” Natasha calls over to her, her voice teasing, and tries to ignore the flutter in her chest at the expression that breaks out across Wanda’s face when she sees her. 

“She won’t let us give her painkillers,” one of the nurse’s tells Natasha, “not that _you’re_ going to help us. You do the same thing.” 

“Exactly, if Nat doesn’t need to take them then neither do I,” Wanda gestures to Natasha wildly, clearly frustrated, and tries to hide the grimace that takes over her expression at the pain that the action caused. 

“Ah, you can only get away with that if you have a good poker face. You, my dear, are going to have to work on that.” Natasha leans down to the nurse that spoke to her, speaking quietly but knowing that Wanda can hear her. “Give her the painkillers, I think she needs them.”

“Natasha, I hate you,” Wanda huffs and falls back against the pillows of the hospital bed. 

It only takes a few seconds for the nurses to give Wanda her medication, and they leave the two women alone after Natasha promises that she’s not going to leave Wanda’s side. 

“I should be mad at you, you know,” Natasha says, leaning back into the stiff plastic chair next to Wanda’s bed and folding her hands in her lap. 

“Why?”

“I knew those guys were behind me. You didn’t need to break Steve’s orders to come and save me,” Natasha keeps a teasing edge to her voice, even though the words are serious. 

“I am sorry I-“Wanda winces again, readjusting her body on the bed with visible effort. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

Natasha’s chest constricts with the implications of the younger woman’s words, but she smiles softly back at her instead, reaching forward to lace her fingers through Wanda’s. 

“Are you going to stay with me?” Wanda asks, squeezing Natasha’s hand with her own and catching her gaze, her green eyes wide with desperation. 

“Of course,” Natasha says, squeezing Wanda’s hand in reassurance. Wanda smiles, the expression breaking across her face. She blinks slowly and Natasha can see the haziness in the green irises as the medicine begins to affect her. She closes her eyes a final time and her breathing evens out within seconds. Natasha reaches forward with her other hand to cradle Wanda’s hand in both of her own, staring at the soft, open expression on the younger woman’s sleeping face and trying to ignore the aching of her heart. 

It only takes 3 days for Wanda to become utterly sick of being on the sidelines. She drags her feet around the compound, following Natasha and Steve around like a puppy and begging them to let her train to no avail. Natasha tries to ignore how endearing she finds it.   
More often than not she’s waiting inside Natasha’s room when she gets back from her morning run, wearing training clothes and lifting up her tank top to show Natasha the healing progress of her gunshot wound. Natasha just sighs and repeats Steve’s orders that Wanda needs to wait to pass a physical before she’s deemed ‘recovered’. 

A week has gone by before Steve allows her back in the gym, only to “observe” the Captain emphasizes, and so Wanda curls up on top of a pile of gym mats and watches the team train whenever they happen to occupy the space. It’s terribly distracting, Natasha finds, to feel Wanda’s gaze on her when she’s working out. The only benefit being the ability to look over and wink at the younger girl whenever she pins Sam or Clint to the mats. 

10 days after the mission she enters the gym only to find Wanda’s spot empty; she swallows the flood of disappointment she feels at the discovery. She proceeds with her workout in a downright bad mood until Steve saunters in eating an apple with a towel slung over his shoulder. 

“Morning Romanoff,” he chimes, and she meets his gaze with as big of a smile that she can conjure. 

“Morning,” she answers, then nods over at the pile of mats that Wanda usually occupies, “where’s Wanda this morning?” 

“Saw her outside with Vision about half an hour ago,” Steve says, shrugging, “maybe she’s with him.” 

“I see,” she says to Steve, trying to keep any indignation out of her words. She pushes down her frustration and turns around to continue her workout. She walks out of the gym that day with raw knuckles and an uneasy feeling in her stomach, that accompanies her for the rest of the day. 

She doesn’t see much of Wanda for the rest of the week, only catching glimpses of her, almost always accompanied by Vision, and seldom giving Natasha a second glance. She feels the sting of it while also recognizing that she’s just getting a taste of her own medicine, and bitter it is.

Immediately after a dinner that both Wanda and Vision are absent from, she goes up to the roof of the compound and sits on the edge of the large building, dangling her legs over the side. The balcony on her floor of Stark tower was always her favourite place, and despite the fact that this is a poor excuse for that view, it still calms her in relatively the same way. She breathes in the crisp evening air as her mind stumbles and spins, attempting desperately to work through her feelings. It’s not something she’s been particularly good at, and she’s become so practiced in compartmentalizing that she hardly knows how to feel anything anymore. Picking emotions apart, shoving them away in a box to be forgotten, corrected. Wanda wasn’t _hers_ , she shouldn’t feel anything. No anger or pain or jealousy. They were teammates, friends. Adding this other side to their relationship was obviously a bad idea, Natasha could see that now, despite the pain in the realization she accepted it. 

She stayed where she was as the temperature dropped around her, the chill of the night seeping into her bones and making her skin buzz. She didn’t go inside until she felt so cold that it hurt. 

Her room was dark when she gets inside, but despite that she feels another presence in her room the second she swings the door open. Almost instantaneously the lamp next to her bed clicks on, sending warm light across the expanse of the space and revealing the stranger in her bed. 

Wanda. 

She’s curled up, knees to her chest, a position that Natasha is familiar seeing the girl in. Her hair is twisted up messily, clearly done hours ago because half a dozen hairs had given up and were now floating around Wanda’s face. She is wearing a hoodie, Natasha’s. And her eyes are fixed on the older woman’s. 

“Hi,” Natasha says. 

“Hey,” Wanda answers, still staring. 

“What are you doing here?” Natasha asks, keeping her voice flat. 

“What, I need an excuse to be in your room now?” The accusation is biting, and Natasha has to look away from Wanda’s gaze to hide the pain that she can’t help from flashing across her face. 

“I never said that,” Natasha says, turning away from Wanda to pretend to look for something in her closet, “I was just asking. I thought you were with Vision.” 

“I was.” 

“I see. And what were you two doing?” She’s straightening out her hoodies, pretending to be looking for one to pull on. She hears rustling from behind her, the sound of someone moving. And then Wanda’s soft voice from directly behind her.

“Natasha, look at me.” 

Natasha turns like she has no choice, and her breath catches in her throat at the sight in front of her. Wanda’s face fills up her field of vision and her heart sings with their proximity, cursing at her for keeping it at bay for so long. Her hands itch painfully with the desire to reach out and pull Wanda to her, to get them as close as possible. 

“Do you think I like Vision?” Wanda asks, tilting her head slightly. 

“You _have_ been spending a lot of time with him,” Natasha says, the words coming out fast as she tries to appease the piercing look in Wanda’s eyes. 

“And that is making you angry, yes?” There’s amusement in her tone now, and Natasha thinks maybe she can breathe a little now. 

“I never said that.”

“But it is,” Wanda’s eyes narrow, and she’s almost smiling, but not quite. She laughs, humorless, and turns to sit on the bed. “Everyone here looks at me like they’re afraid of me. They treat me like some kind of breakable doll, like maybe one day I will make a mistake and blow everyone up, especially Vision.”

She looks up at Natasha and smiles genuinely, a soft, gentle twist of her lips. 

“But not you,” she says, the words are a whisper, but Natasha can hear her. She’s so enraptured by this girl she’s sure there could be a fire raging outside her door, and she would have no idea. Her heart is thumping so loudly in her chest she’s sure Wanda can hear its stuttering rhythm. 

“Please come here,” even softer this time, and Natasha’s feet are carrying her to Wanda before she even realizes she’s moving. Wanda’s hands go out in front of her to catch her, clutching at her hips as soon as they’re within reach and pulling her in. 

Wanda looks up at her for a second, her lips parted like she’s about to say something but before Natasha can open her own mouth to ask her what’s going on, she’s sinking to her knees in front of her. 

She presses a kiss to the apex of Natasha’s thighs and then begins to pull the material of her sweats off of Natasha’s hips slowly, fingers hooking into the waistband of her underwear and pulling that down too. It’s at that moment Natasha realizes how wet she is, how embarrassingly turned on she is for the girl in front of her. Wanda helps Natasha step out of her clothes, her fingers soft where she touches Natasha’s skin, and Natasha almost trembles at the tenderness of it all. Wanda tosses her pants and underwear aside and turns back forward, her bottom lip caught between her teeth and blazing intensity in her emerald eyes. 

She’s still for a few moments, a time that feels impossibly long as Natasha’s cunt pulses mere centimetres away from Wanda’s mouth, but she stays just as still. Something about what Wanda’s doing feels special and she doesn’t want to risk ruining it. 

Wanda begins to move forward, hands going out to hold herself steady on the fronts of Natasha’s thighs, and finally, _finally_ the press of her tongue against Natasha. 

Wanda’s ministrations are slow and unsure, consistent with someone who has never done this before, but Natasha hardly notices as her entire body lights up like wildfire. 

She can’t remember the last time someone had touched her like this. She’s sure nobody has every treated her with such softness, such intimacy, and she whimpers in spite of herself at the long, languid licks of Wanda’s tongue against her pussy. She twists a hand in Wanda’s hair because she can’t help not holding on to anything, but she doesn’t put any pressure, just holds on as Wanda tongues her with slow, deliberate movements. 

Natasha can tell that Wanda’s listening to her, taking note of her breathing to gauge her reaction, and it doesn’t take long for her to get the hang of things and begin to move faster. She closes her mouth over Natasha’s clit and begins to suckle slowly, her grip tightening on Natasha’s legs. Natasha begins to rock against Wanda’s face, chasing the suction of Wanda’s mouth as heat spreads through her lower belly, but the angle isn’t right. She huffs in frustration, but Wanda seems to sense what she wants and leans backwards, resting her head against the edge of Natasha’s bed and lifting one of Natasha’s knees over her shoulder so she can rest her weight on the bed and press herself more fully into the hotness of Wanda’s mouth.

She shudders in pleasure as Wanda draws her clit in deeper, her tongue swirling over the surface. She’s grinding desperately against Wanda’s mouth now, her breath coming in gasps and the pressure building slowly, sending tingles up and down her arms. 

Suddenly Wanda’s fingers are on her too, rubbing at her entrance softly, tenderly, like she wants to do something but doesn’t really know how. Natasha bites her lip to keep herself from begging Wanda for those fingers inside her, cursing internally at the vulnerability that all of this pleasure seems to reveal within her, and instead reaches down and pushes Wanda’s fingers into herself, moaning at the fullness. 

It takes Wanda a few seconds to get the rhythm right, but once she does, Natasha is a mess on top of her. She’s clutching at Wanda’s hair as she rocks her hips against Wanda’s face, a string of nonsense profanity spilling out of her mouth that she hates herself for saying but that she can’t seem to stop. Wanda’s fingers piston in and out of her, curling upwards and dragging across that spot deep inside her so fucking perfectly, like her fingers were made for it. Made for Natasha. 

The orgasm that has been building inside of her for so long, for weeks since that first kiss against the fridge, that she had been ignoring is suddenly there, ripping through her so fast and so intense that it knocks the wind out of her. She’s pushing Wanda against her pussy so hard she’s certain that the girl can’t breathe but she can’t seem to care as wave after wave of pleasure crashes into her, her head spinning with it and her pussy clenching tightly around Wanda’s fingers, tremors racketing up from her feet all the way to her shoulders. 

As soon as it’s over she sucks in a deep breath and pulls Wanda upwards, crashing their mouths together as tears threaten to spill from her eyes. Wanda is breathless as much as she is, her mouth hot and tasting like Natasha where their lips meet, wet and sloppy and desperate. Wanda pulls Natasha on top of her and falls back onto the bed, her thighs immediately falling open to allow Natasha’s thigh to press into her. Natasha is grabbing at every piece of Wanda she can reach, pulling her shirt off and tugging her pants down as her lips move feverishly against the younger woman’s. When she finally gets her fingers inside Wanda’s underwear, she growls at all of the wetness she finds coating the girl’s pussy, her inner thighs, certain she’s never felt Wanda this hot, this ready for her. 

She stops kissing Wanda to pull her shirt over her head, so they’re both naked and open to each other. She presses her hand against Wanda’s pussy, but just her palm, flat against the hot, wet skin, and watches as Wanda’s eyes flare with desire, her lips turning down into a pout. Wanda’s mouth starts to open like she’s expecting Natasha to ask her to beg for it, which is what she would normally do, but the memory of Wanda’s hot, sweet mouth coaxing her to orgasm flashes across her mind, and so she presses into Wanda’s pussy and captures the honest to god scream Wanda lets out with her own mouth. 

Natasha loves Wanda like this, hot and whimpering underneath her, fingers gripping Natasha so tight it hurts. She moves her thigh to notch behind her wrist so she can fuck into Wanda with the strength of her leg, curling her fingers upwards as she thrusts back and forth, Wanda’s wetness coating her fingers all the way to her palm. 

Wanda can barely keep kissing her she’s breathing so hard, hot, wet air directly into Natasha’s mouth. Her eyes are screwed shut, tightly, like seeing Natasha when she’s like this would be too much. That just won’t do, Natasha wants Wanda to look at her when she falls apart. 

“Look at me, Wanda,” Natasha commands, and the girl’s eyes fly open like magic, her pupils are blown, and her eyes are glassy, unfocused.

“Fuck,” she whines, like just seeing Natasha looking down at her multiplies her pleasure, and her hips begin speeding up, meeting the push of Natasha’s fingers with every thrust. 

“Do you like when I fuck you like this?” Natasha asks because she likes to hear Wanda’s voice like this, all breathy and submissive. 

“Yes Nat, yes please,” Wanda’s hands twist to the back of Natasha’s head and clutch the hair there, her eyelids fluttering with the effort to keep her eyes open and trained on Natasha. 

“Please what?”

“I want to come please, please,” she begs, eyes wide and pleading. Natasha realizes that Wanda’s asking permission to come, and the thought sends a flash of heat to Natasha’s pussy. 

“You want to come for me Wanda?” Natasha asks, feeling her lips turn up into a smirk. 

“Yes, please,” she begs again, and Natasha can see overwhelmed tears shining on the younger woman’s eyes, her grip tightening even more on Natasha and her hips gyrating even faster. 

Natasha leans down to kiss Wanda, licking into her open mouth as Wanda whimpers and shudders against her lips. She moves her lips and tongue along Wanda’s cheek, her jawline and up to her ear, leaving a trail of wetness all the way to the girl’s ear. She opens her mouth, breathing hotly into Wanda’ ear and whispers, throaty and commanding, “come for me, Wanda.” 

The effect is instantaneous as Wanda explodes beneath her, her entire body tensing as her pussy tightens around Natasha’s fingers, pulsing around them and gushing out wetness over Natasha palm. Natasha waits until Wanda is shuddering with aftershocks, then she slowly pulls her fingers out and flips them, lifting Wanda up and over her like she weighs nothing, and settling the younger woman’s pussy onto her face. 

“Wha-“ Wanda begins to protest, but she stops talking to gasp as Natasha’s mouth makes contact with her pussy. 

Natasha buries her entire face into Wanda’s cunt, breathing in deeply and smothering her face with Wanda’s juices. She shoves her tongue into Wanda, fucking the girl with it, who is protesting weakly above her, her legs shaking around Natasha’s head from the overstimulation, but her hips rocking like she can’t decide what she wants to do. 

But when Natasha removes her tongue to wrap her mouth around Wanda’s clit she certainly decides, hands flying down to press Natasha into herself as deep as she’ll go, a blubbering mess on top of her as the older woman sucks relentlessly at her pussy. 

Wanda’s second orgasm causes a scream to erupt from her throat, her entire body shaking over top of Natasha, gasping in lungful after lungful of air and grinding slowly against Natasha’s face as the aftershocks roll through her. Natasha keeps licking at her until she stops moving, hands digging into the skin of her thighs and chest heaving. She gingerly climbs off of Natasha, careful not to accidentally hit the older woman’s face with her legs, before collapsing on the bed beside her. 

They’re both quiet for a while, neither of them seeming to have mastered the post-sex etiquette of their arrangement, and the only sound in the room for the next few moments is both women trying to catch their breath. 

Natasha feels sated, and happier than she has in a while. Her limbs are warm and numb from her orgasm and her eyelids are suddenly impossibly heavy. 

“Nat?” She hums and turns to look through half-lidded eyes to Wanda, who is smiling at her with an amused look on her face. Then she’s getting up, and a few seconds later she feels a shirt being pulled over her head, before Wanda lays back down beside her, shaking her head with silent laughter. 

“What’s so funny?” She slurs, and Wanda’s chuckling, a low, pleasant sound that makes Natasha’s chest feel fuzzy. 

“Nothing honey,” Wanda says and settles into the pillow. 

_Honey _. Wanda called her honey. The word dances and echoes through Natasha’s drowsy, disorganized mind.__

__Natasha’s eyes fight to blink away the sleep, but it is already grabbing at her, pulling her downwards and away from the warm, hazy feeling of Wanda’s presence. She shuffles toward the younger woman and rests her head against her shoulder, wraps an arm around her waist and breathes in deeply._ _

__She doesn’t want Wanda to leave, wants her to stay in her bed, this close, for the foreseeable future. Wants to be this open and honest and vulnerable with the younger woman forever. Before she can decide what that means, Wanda’s lips are pressing a kiss into her forehead and sleep is dragging her deeply and pleasantly down._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright so i literally wrote half of this chapter going a completely different way, then hated it so i took a break forever before deciding on this superior version. so sorry it took ages!! i hope everyone is still staying safe and happy! thank you again for all of the love, come talk to me on tumblr if you want [here!](https://kenscarquin.tumblr.com/) have a great first week of 2021 xxx


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